Turncoat
by elizaye
Summary: Switching sides. "I have only one condition, and I trust it won't be hard for you to meet. I want Granger." Rated M for sex/language/torture.
1. Chapter 1 H

**Author's Note:** Hello! I've decided to try to keep my chapters for this story a bit shorter than the ones I've written for _Vengeance_, because I know that long chapters can be intimidating or just plain tiring to read. Therefore, I'm going to make it a goal to keep these ones less lengthy.

Oh, and I feel less inspired, so these chapters will just have to go without titles. Hope you don't mind!

This story is set three years past _Deathly Hallows_. There are no more Horcruxes, but Voldemort didn't die in battle, so the war went on. And FRED DID NOT DIE :)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any material from _Harry Potter_.

Enjoy! (and review!)

**Chapter 1**

I duck behind a tree and pray that they didn't see my hiding place. The darkness helps, but it won't be enough. They'll find me eventually. I have to move.

There are so many of them. I'm worried that I won't make it out alive. But I'm more afraid for Harry—his survival depends on the tiny herb that I carefully tucked into the inner pocket of my robes mere minutes ago, and if I don't get to him within half an hour, a full recovery will be right near impossible.

My heart's beating so loudly that I find it hard to believe that they haven't heard it already.

I have to make it out of here alive, for Harry's sake. And for the sake of the wizarding world. We won't stop fighting if he dies, but without Harry, we'll all go down eventually. It's not a very positive outlook, but I've always prided myself on being realistic. I won't have false hope.

All I have to do is get past the boundary. I curse the Anti-Disapparition Jinx that was placed on Hogwarts grounds and wish that I could Disapparate from this spot. The Death Eaters must be covering the entire boundary around Hogwarts already.

Why are there _so many?_

"Expecto Patronum!" I hiss.

A silver otter shoots out of the end of my wand, and several Death Eaters race after it. I count to three before running in the opposite direction, hoping that my distraction will last _just_ long enough.

What did I just say about harboring false hope?

I hear pounding footsteps almost _right_ behind me, and I hold back a scream. I've always had terrible luck. Looks like tonight will be no different.

I push my legs faster and swerve to the right, dodging a hex that sets a tree on fire. I yelp and skirt that tree, firing a Jelly Legs Jinx back at the source of the hex, hoping it'll hit its mark. The sound of crashing through the undergrowth doesn't cease, and I know that I've missed.

"Protego!" I shout, and an unrecognized curse rebounds off my Shield Charm.

Momentarily distracted by my proximity to the Apparition Point, I hurtle right into someone's chest. I try to raise my wand against him, but he pins my arms to the sides, and I hear someone shout a Disarming Charm from the left.

My wand shoots out of my hand.

I'm doomed.

Then there are three flashes of green light fired in quick succession.

The Death Eater who'd been restraining me drops to the ground, followed by two more thuds. It's all silent.

"What's going on?" I hear a shout from far away.

Then someone's pinning a cloak around me from behind and pulling the hood over my head. I spin, trying to see who's helping me.

"Don't move," he hisses as he pushes the hood more securely over my head.

My wand is shoved back into my hand, and he gives me a rough shove toward the nearest Apparition Point. As I reach the spot, I turn around and see a Death Eater mask. My eyes widen, but he just gestures madly for me to leave.

Before I Disapparate, I mouth two words at him.

_Thank you._

I appear on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place and bang on the door. It is thrown open, and Ron appears. He points his wand at me.

"What's your middle name?"

"Jean."

"Where are your parents?"

"Australia. They think their names are Wendell and Monica Wilkins," I reply readily.

He steps out of the way, and I hurry into the house. He shuts the door behind me.

"Did you get it?"

I nod and pull the tiny sprig out of my pocket to show him before running up the stairs toward Harry's bedroom on the second floor.

"How is he doing?"

"Not good. Getting paler by the minute," Ron says. "Ginny's looking after him."

"This will make him feel better."

I reach his room and knock on the door before pushing it open.

"Oh thank Merlin you're here, Hermione!" Ginny cries as I enter. "He's in lots of pain."

I move to the chair by his bedside and tug a leaf off the small plant.

"Harry, open up," I say.

He shakes his head weakly and tries to say something, but then he chokes and coughs up blood. He's worse than he was when I left him.

Ginny's sobbing openly now.

"Ron, hold his head still," I command.

Ron moves swiftly to Harry's bedside and holds his head in place. I pull his chin down to get his mouth open and gently insert the leaf under his tongue.

"This will keep him alive for another day. I'll go back downstairs to make the potion now. Ginny, make sure he doesn't swallow that leaf, or spit it out. Ron, come with me."

I hurry back down the stairs. Ron follows soon afterwards. As I reach the bottom of the steps, I slow my pace slightly to ask him a question.

"How many others have returned?"

"Fred, George, and Bill got back a few hours ago. They're not too hurt—nothing Mum couldn't fix, at least. They're all on the top floor. Bill's a wreck, though."

I enter the kitchen and pull a small cauldron out of a cabinet.

"Why's that?" I ask.

"Fleur. She didn't make it."

I'm hardly shocked—I'd expected some of us to die. But still, to hear that Fleur is gone…

I don't stop moving. I place the cauldron on the table and fill it about halfway with water. Then I turn to get some ingredients out of a cupboard.

"Who else?"

"George said that loads of people were still fighting when they left."

"That's not what I asked you," I reply shortly.

"Luna was killed, and… and Professor Flitwick," Ron says, subdued.

"And that's all, at the moment?"

I glance at him in time to see him nod.

"That's just fantastic. I _told_ all of you that this was an ambush, that it was a trap. Of _course_, you and Harry had to start pompously asserting that our _numbers_ would be enough to counter theirs. Absolutely ridiculous! Now three of us are dead, and Harry's close enough to dead as well. If this potion doesn't work—"

"Wait—there's a possibility that it won't work?" Ron shouts, clearly horrified.

I glare at him. "It'll work," I say begrudgingly, to alleviate his fear. "But honestly, could you two have _been_ more reckless?"

"Thank you, Hermione dear," Mrs. Weasley's voice drifts in from the entrance. "I couldn't have said it better myself. Ronald Weasley, you should be ashamed of yourself."

He blinks furiously. "It wasn't _all_ my fault! Harry also—"

"Don't argue with me," says Mrs. Weasley. She approaches me. "Is Harry going to be all right?"

"Yes. The potion won't take more than an hour to brew. It'll take some time to have an effect, though. The pain will go away, but he won't be able to move for at least a week."

Ron's face falls. "Is it really that bad?"

"We're lucky that he'll survive at all—there was only one sprig left in Professor Snape's private stores. And I almost didn't make it back here alive."

Ron looks extremely guilty, and I almost feel bad for putting him down.

I suppose he meant well—Mundungus had told us that only three or four Death Eaters were hiding in the Leaky Cauldron. But when we arrived on the scene, dozens of them poured into the bar from Diagon Alley, and we were surrounded practically by an _army_. It's a wonder that people are still there, fighting.

I turn my attention back to squeezing the juice out of two Boom Berries. I pour the liquid into the cauldron and watch as it begins to bubble. Then I move it to the stove and point my wand at it.

"Incendio."

The fire lights up, and I stir the concoction.

"Go stand by the door. I'm sure more of them will be arriving shortly," I say.

Ron leaves the room without protest, closing the kitchen door behind him.

"Are the Death Eaters still occupying Hogwarts?" Mrs. Weasley asks me.

I nod. "They kept the Anti-Disapparition Jinx in place, too. I barely made it out alive."

Mrs. Weasley pats my shoulder. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not really. I'll finish this potion on my own. Do you need a potion for Fred, George, or Bill?"

"I'll just take some Blood-Replenishing Potion," Mrs. Weasley says. She opens up a cupboard to pull out a small bottle.

"When I'm done with this potion for Harry, I'll make some more. We'll probably need a lot more than that bottle for the others, when they get back."

"Thank you, dear."

She leaves the kitchen with the bottle, and I look at the thick, bubbling potion in the cauldron. Maybe I should have added more water, but it's too late at this point—this'll have to do. It looks a touch too thick, but I hope it'll be fine.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Weasley bustles back in.

"Do we still have any more of that Burn-Healing Paste?" she asks, opening the cupboard that contains our healing potions.

"Yes, I think it's on the top shelf," I reply. "Who got burned?"

"Remus," Mrs. Weasley replies.

I turn just in time to see Ron supporting Lupin into the room. Tonks follows the pair closely, an anxious look on her face. Her hair has turned white, and she looks almost aged with worry. I wonder if all Metamorphmagi express their worry this way.

Mrs. Weasley waves her wand, and a small wooden box floats down from the top shelf and into her hand. Tonk lets out a sigh of relief, immediately snatching the box from Mrs. Weasley and pulling the lid open. I pass her a small butter spreader, but she barely spares me a glance as she turns to her husband. Ron helps her pull Lupin's shirt off, and I hiss at the sight of his extensive burns across his left shoulder, torso, and the left side of his neck. Tonks starts spreading the thick orange paste over his burns, a very worried expression on her face.

I turn back to the potion and continue stirring. Damn that stupid Mundungus for getting us into that mess. What kind of a spy is he, anyway? Can he not count? Or did he fall asleep during his watch? I plan to wring his neck when this ordeal is over and the survivors all return to Grimmauld Place.

This is probably the worst aftermath of a battle that I've had to deal with since the beginning of the war. Three deaths, all in one night, and it's not even over yet. I'm sure that there will be more by the time the sun rises.

Miraculously, not many of us have died so far. Arthur Weasley passed at the Battle of Hogwarts, when the last Horcruxes were destroyed. Professor Snape was killed as well, but now we finally know that he was on our side, that he was Dumbledore's man to the end. I still can't believe the extent of his love for Harry's mother.

I wish someone could love me like that, but such a silly, girly wish has no place in a world like this.

I continue stirring the potion and think back to my narrow escape.

Perhaps Voldemort is losing support from his followers.

Who was the Death Eater who set me free? And why did he do it?

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yes, I know, it's obvious who the Death Eater is.

Review, review, review! We writers live for your reviews! At least, I do :)

Oh, and it'd be nice to know what you guys think about the length of this chapter. More manageable, yes?


	2. Chapter 2 D

**Chapter 2**

I hear a loud whistle and race toward the window.

I'm all the way up in the hallway, right by the portrait of the Fat Lady—it's my last night up here on the rotation.

That whistle can only mean one thing: they've found an intruder. I race down the steps to join the others on a search through the grounds. I wonder what idiot decided to stroll across Hogwarts territory tonight.

Weren't the members of the Order supposed to be going into an ambush at the Leaky Cauldron?

I shake my head as I leave the castle through the giant doors, followed by several other Death Eaters. It's silent, and I run toward the Forbidden Forest. I'm sure that if the intruder is smart, he or she will be on their way to an Apparition Point. The others probably have all the points covered, but we're all required to go after intruders anyway.

Pointless.

A waste of effort.

As soon as I start nearing the Apparition Points, I slow down to a walk. Many Death Eaters are nearby. We're all moving quietly, looking for any sign of someone who isn't one of us.

I catch a glimpse of someone without a hood and am about to call out when I notice that it's a girl with long, bushy hair.

Long… bushy hair…

Granger.

Fuck.

What is she doing _here?_ Shouldn't she be off with the Order, dying in an ambush? Why is she _here_, within reach?

Why do I just happen to be in the right place to save her?

I consider my options, as though I don't already know what I'm going to do.

As though I even have a _choice._

I stopped having a choice _years_ ago.

Years ago, those ridiculously bouncy curls stopped being annoying to me. That know-it-all attitude ceased to frustrate me. The fact that she had "dirty blood" became irrelevant to me. The day that I looked into her eyes and realized just how warm, brown, and fucking _beautiful_ they were… that was the day that I had lost my freedom, lost my choice.

I watch as a silvery otter bounds into the woods.

Several not-so-bright Death Eaters run after it, taking the bait. I wait silently and watch as that bushy head of hair bounds through the woods. Then I run silently along, making a parallel path with her in the woods. I see a Death Eater following closely behind her, and another on her other side.

Some hexes are exchanged, but there's nothing I can do about them.

I don't want to interfere.

If I do anything that even remotely angers the Dark Lord, my parents will die. He made that very clear the last time I saw him, when Longbottom got away on my watch. Not my fault fucking Vincent got in the way.

Although I don't care much for my father, I'll miss my mother. I don't want to interfere. I shouldn't.

But I have to.

When I see her crash into a Death Eater—I recognize from his build that it's Yaxley, my heart clenches.

I Disarm her and snatch her wand out of the air. I don't want it to fall into anyone else's hands. Then I use her wand to fire three Killing Curses rapidly, one after another. Yaxley crumples first, followed by the one behind her and the one on her other side.

I rush over to her, tugging my cloak off.

We don't have much time. I already hear other Death Eaters heading our way. It's impossible that three Killing Curses would have escaped their notice.

I throw my cloak around her shoulders from behind. I can't afford letting her know that I'm the one letting her go. I may be wearing a mask, but I don't want her to see me nevertheless. She turns, trying in vain to see who I am, but I shove her head back to face forward and yank the hood over her head.

"Don't move," I growl into her ear.

I tug the hood up over her head again—it doesn't seem secure, and I don't want it falling off. That bushy hair is too damned obvious. Then I thrust her wand back into her hand and give her a hard shove forward. She stumbles toward the nearest Apparition Point.

When she reaches it, she turns around, and her eyes widen. She must have seen my Death Eater mask. I wave my hand, gesturing for her to leave.

_Get the fuck _out_ of here!_ I want to scream at her.

She's mouthing words at me, but I don't pay attention to her lips. Her eyes already say it all. She's thanking me.

My heart leaps in joy.

Fuck me.

She finally Disapparates, and I can breathe normally. She's safe.

I point my wand at myself.

_Stupefy._

* * *

It's bright. Too, too, _too_ fucking bright.

I raise a hand to rub my eyes.

My mother's voice sounds out.

"Oh Draco, you're finally awake."

I groan and sit up. With one glance, I know I'm lying in my room. Since when was _my_ room ever _bright?_

"Mother," I say, looking to my right and finding that sunlight is streaming in, "didn't I tell you _not_ to open those?"

"It gets dreadfully dark with the curtains drawn, Draco. I think it'd be healthier if you got some more sunlight. You're unnaturally pale as it is, just like your father."

"Narcissa!"

Great. Father's coming. Just what I need.

He appears in the doorway looking extremely angry.

"I thought I told you—"

He stops when he sees that I'm sitting up.

"Oh, so you've finally recovered, have you?" he spits at me furiously. "What happened last night? How did that Mudblood escape?"

"Lucius, dear, could you please—"

"Mother, it's fine," I say.

"Narcissa, leave us."

I hold back the desire to glare at my father. I hate how he orders my mother around like she's a servant. But this is normal for him, and I learned the first time I confronted him about it that he wouldn't change. And that he wouldn't hesitate to hurt me for talking back to him.

My mother exits the room without complaint, and I reach over to grab the wand on my nightstand. I wave it once, and the curtains slide shut.

Much better.

"Last night, I was patrolling up near Gryffindor Tower when the whistle was blown. I went out to join the others. I eventually caught sight of Granger and chased her. That's all I remember," I lie.

"Do you know where you were found?"

I frown. "I was on the grounds, wasn't I?"

"You were found by the dead bodies of three Death Eaters. Why is it that the others around you were killed while you were spared?"

I hadn't thought of that last night.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid me.

"I don't know," I reply lamely.

My father gives me a very cold, penetrating gaze. "If there's something going on between you and Granger, you'd better tell me _now_."

I shake my head. "There's nothing between us. You can use Veritaserum on me."

"You think you're so clever, don't you? I already know your Aunt Bellatrix taught you to resist it."

"Then take my word for it."

"You're lucky the Dark Lord isn't concerned with that Mudblood right now," he says venomously.

"Really? I'd like to think it's more that _we_ are lucky that he isn't concerned about the Mudblood. I was under the impression that if _one_ of us fails, then _all _of us will die. Isn't that right, Father?"

He's livid, but I can't seem to stop the words from coming out of my mouth.

"So really, I think it's in your own best interest not to say a word about what happened last night. The other Death Eaters will have said enough without you fanning the fire. Like you said, Mudblood Granger isn't top priority right now. And if you think about it, I'm really lucky to be alive. You know what, I think it's because I was smaller than the other ones. Maybe she thought I was a student and took pity on me."

I don't bother to mention that I'm not any smaller than the Death Eaters around me. I've only just stopped growing, and at six foot one, I'm one of the taller Death Eaters.

"Boy, don't speak to me in that tone. Have you forgotten—"

"No, I haven't forgotten."

"_Don't_ interrupt me! Are you asking for a beating? It's about time you had one."

I glare at him and spread my arms out to the sides to show him I'm not afraid.

"Fine. If that's what makes you feel powerful, go right ahead."

Pain assaults me, surrounds me, stabs through me.

Bastard!

Pain.

Pain.

The surface beneath me is hard.

Pain.

Have I fallen off the bed?

Pain.

Is that my father's voice I hear? Is he _laughing?_

Pain.

I hate him. I hate him with every fiber of my being.

I feel like my head is splitting in half.

When will I die?

As suddenly as it began, it stops.

Interesting, this time was shorter than usual.

I gasp for air and look around. Yes, it seems I've fallen off the bed.

My father is smiling smugly. "Was that enough for you?" he asks.

"Why yes, thank you so much," I reply sarcastically.

He frowns at my tone but decides not to reply, exiting the room without another word. I'm grateful to be left alone at last.

As I get to my feet, Aunt Bellatrix enters the room.

Why does no one ever decide to knock?

"Draco," she says, smiling sympathetically.

She thinks that she's the only person who understands me. But I suppose it's my fault she's under that false impression.

"Hey, Aunt Bella."

"It'll be easier for you if you stop talking back to Lucius. He's a moron, and we both know it. Don't bother with him."

"Sure."

"But tell me, what happened last night? It must have been something serious, to have him worried like that."

"Mudblood Granger got away from Hogwarts. I don't know why she was there."

"And he blames it on you?"

"Supposedly the other Death Eaters found four people unconscious near the Apparition Point that she used. Three of them were dead, and I was just Stunned."

My aunt narrows her eyes. "That _is_ suspicious. Did she know your identity?"

"I didn't take my mask off, if that's what you're asking. I don't remember anything. The last thing I remember is chasing after her."

"Well, the Dark Lord doesn't care much for that Mudblood right now."

"So my father said. How was the ambush at the Leaky Cauldron?" I ask, trying not to look too interested. I just hope that Granger didn't join the fight there and get herself killed, not after I risked my neck to get her to safety.

"Those Order of the Phoenix members… they're like cockroaches. Impossible to kill," Aunt Bella says with narrowed eyes.

"It didn't go so well, then?" I prod.

"I saw the half-goblin professor go down dueling Antonin."

Dolohov. He was responsible for several deaths in the Order.

"Professor Flitwick?" I inquire, and she nods.

"Yes, yes, that was his name. And what a shame. I was dueling your cousin, Nymphadora, but that blasted werewolf got in the way, and then they bolted."

"Yeah, shame, that is," I echo. After a moment of silence, I ask her, "Where is the Dark Lord?"

"Oh Draco, dear boy, don't fret. Of all my…" she pauses to think of a word, "…students, you've always been my favorite. I will make sure you are taken care of. After all, you can't be blamed for a Mudblood's weak heart. You'll make her regret her decision the next time she's within reach, won't you?"

I nod, a wicked grin stretching my lips.

"You bet I will."


	3. Chapter 3 H

**Chapter 3**

"What's on your mind?"

I start and look up to see Blaise.

I've been sitting on the top landing of Number 12 Grimmauld Place for about an hour, leaning against the wall between two bedrooms, not speaking to anyone. We're all recovering from the hit we took last night. Through some sort of miracle, none of the rest of us died last night—all of us either returned here or made it to another safe house and sent word, except for Blaise.

But now I know he's all right.

"I um… nothing," I reply. "When did you get in?"

"A few minutes ago," he says, sitting down next to me.

"Why did it take you so long to get back?"

"I dragged a few Death Eaters off on a wild goose chase to get them out of the Leaky Cauldron. Just got back from Romania."

I shake my head. "You're crazy."

"Hey, it worked. That's all that matters."

I nod.

"How's Harry?" he asks.

"He'll live," I say. "The potion worked."

"Of course it worked. All the potions that you make are perfect," he says, smiling.

I fake a smile. "Hardly."

We fall silent, and I lean my head on his shoulder.

"What's bothering you?" he asks.

"Nothing."

"If you're not going to talk to me about it, at least tell Harry or Ron."

I heave a sigh. "Last night, I went to Hogwarts for—"

"Yes, I know," he interrupts me. "Molly talked to me when I came in."

"Well… you know that they have a patrol in Hogwarts, right?"

Blaise nods. "Nasty task, trying to get in. But it's even harder to get out," he says. "I'm pretty surprised that they sent you all by yourself."

I shake my head. "There was no one else. The thing is… last night, I shouldn't have escaped. I almost made it to an Apparition Point, but I was caught."

He shifts to put an arm around me. "How'd you get out, then?"

"I was released."

He raises an eyebrow. "By who?"

"That's what I can't stop thinking about. I don't know who it was. All I know is that he had a Death Eater mask on. And he gave me this."

I tug lightly at the cloak that's still around my shoulders, and he removes his arm from around me.

"Oh… I hadn't even noticed that."

"Yeah," I say, giving him a small smile. "No one else really noticed it either. Clothing isn't exactly a priority, what with all that happened last night."

"Can I see it?"

I lean forward, remove the cloak from around my shoulders and pass it to him. He looks at the material closely.

"How tall was he?" he asks me.

"I don't know… I only saw him from a distance. He looked… maybe your height."

"Hmm."

"Do you have any idea who it could be?"

He shakes his head. "Why are you so worried?"

"I just… I'm pretty sure that he saved me because he knew who I was."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing? Maybe Voldemort's losing support from his own Death Eaters."

"See, that's what I thought at first, too. But I keep getting this feeling that it could be a trick. What if that man saved me on Voldemort's orders? What if my survival is actually important to their plans? What if they plan to use me against us somehow? I'm scared," I admit.

"Don't be afraid," he says, putting his arm back around me. "How can you worry about them using you against us? You'd never betray us. You know that better than anyone, don't you? There isn't a way for that to happen."

"I can't help but wonder. There's no other explanation."

"Except the one that we both came up with first," he says. "Don't over-think this, Hermione. Listen to me. They _cannot_ use you against us, not unless you decide to let them do it. As long as you stay… well, _you_, then that'll never happen. You don't have anything to worry about."

I nod. "Thanks, Blaise."

Hearing his reassurances makes me feel better, but I still can't shake the feeling that something bad is coming my way. He could simply be saying these things to ease my worries. He could be thinking something else entirely.

Blaise saved me and Harry when we were in a tight spot, maybe two years ago. We had heard rumors that Lucius Malfoy would be in Rome, and we'd gone to figure out exactly what he was up to. Ron didn't come with us that time—he had agreed with me that it was time to let go of our relationship and go back to being friends, but we were still a little uncomfortable around each other. It had hurt my feelings that he'd given in so easily, but we both knew that our feelings weren't strong enough to last.

Harry and I had been hiding in a dark alleyway, cornered, with Lucius Malfoy moving in on us. We'd both been under the Invisibility Cloak, Disarmed, but Lucius knew that we were there, and it had been only a matter of time before he found us.

Then he was struck with a hex from behind and started Disapparating. Luckily, Blaise Summoned our wands to him before Lucius disappeared. After that, we took him to the Order. Apparently, he'd been wandering out on his own, disowned by his mother and abandoned by his friends for refusing to serve Voldemort…

"Didn't I just tell you to stop over-thinking things, Hermione?" he says in my ear.

"I'm not."

"Liar," he says, grinning.

Before I can get away, he's pinned me down and started tickling me. Laughing, I squirm under him and try to wriggle free.

"I'm not over-thinking, I promise!" I squeal, thrashing and giggling as he continues to tickle me.

I finally get good grips on his hands and hold them away from my stomach. He props himself up above me, eyes twinkling playfully.

"Oi, what're you two doing?"

Blaise rolls his eyes. "Just go back downstairs, Weasley. Hermione and I are a bit busy."

I laugh and push him off to the side so that I can sit up. Ron's standing at the top of the stairs, looking at me with a disappointed expression.

"Is something wrong?" I ask him innocently.

He shakes his head. "I just heard you two up here and wanted to make sure that nothing—"

"Oh, don't you worry," Blaise interrupts as he sits up beside me and drapes his arm across my shoulders again. "I'll be gentle with her."

Ron shoots me another angry look before going back downstairs.

I shrug Blaise's arm off my shoulders and punch him in the side.

"What was that for?" he asks.

"You'll _be gentle_ with me? You know how Ron gets when you joke around like that."

He smirks. "It's the truth. I'd be gentle, if you'd let me."

I shake my head and get to my feet. "I should go talk to him," I say as I head for the stairs.

"Yeah, all right. Just hurt my feelings and leave me here, why don't you," he says.

I laugh and start going down the staircase. "Bye, Blaise."

"Hermione, wait one second," he says.

I turn around to look at him.

"Try not to worry your pretty little head too much over last night, all right? I'll see what I can do with this cloak. You'll know as soon as I know."

"Thanks again Blaise, really."

I go downstairs past the third floor to the second, where Harry, Ron and Blaise's shared room is. I knock gently, and the door is pulled open. Ron appears in the doorway. When he sees that it's me, his expression darkens.

"I just wanted to check on Harry," I say, pushing past him and into the room.

"He's still the same," Ginny says softly, looking down at Harry on the bed. "How long did you say it would take before he could—"

"A week," I answer before she finishes the question.

She's already asked it four or five times since I administered the potion. I'm just glad that Harry will be alive. Surely, being bedridden for a week is much better than being dead.

Alicia Spinnet appears in the doorway. "Molly wants us all to go downstairs for dinner."

"I'll keep Harry company," Ginny says. "Can you just bring up some food for me later?"

"I'll get you some now," Alicia says.

"Hermione and I will head downstairs in a few minutes," says Ron. "We've got some things to discuss."

"All right, then," Alicia says as she starts going down the stairs.

"What do you two have to talk about?" Ginny asks her brother.

"Don't worry about it," I tell her with a small smile.

Then we exit the room, and he leads me across the landing to the room that I share with Ginny. We enter the room, and I shut the door behind me. I can hear footsteps coming down from the upper floors. Must be the others, heading down for dinner.

There are twelve of us who regularly stay here at Grimmauld Place, but others come and go as needed—Sirius's and Regulus's rooms on the top floor are always kept vacant in case of emergencies. Right now, the house seems especially crowded—Bill and Mrs. Weasley usually stay at Shell Cottage, along with several Hogwarts students who joined the Order at different times after the war began.

Ron's voice jerks me out of my thoughts.

"Well?" he says impatiently.

"Well, what?"

"Are you dating that tosser or not?"

I put my hands on my hips. "Why is it any of your business who I'm dating? Does it affect you?"

"I just—don't you remember his reputation back at Hogwarts?"

"No, I don't remember a thing," I reply sarcastically.

"I just… from what I saw upstairs—"

"And what _exactly_ do you think you saw upstairs?"

He doesn't answer my question, continuing instead, "I think you shouldn't get that close to him. He's probably going to hurt you—you know what he's like. I just don't want you to do something stupid, that's all."

"Are you insulting my intelligence?"

"No," he says, backpedaling quickly.

"Do you think I'm stupid, is that it?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then you should trust my judgment and leave me alone."

"I don't like seeing the two of you together."

Before I can reply, the bedroom door swings open, and I turn around to see Blaise, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest.

"Were you eavesdropping on us?" Ron demands from behind me.

"I was just on my way down to dinner and heard you two talking. The walls here are pretty thin, you know. If you want privacy, cast a charm for it," Blaise replies coolly. "But honestly, if you want privacy with my girl, you should ask me for it."

I turn around to face my ex and find that his face has turned as red as his hair. Sighing, I say, "Ron, don't listen to him. He's just trying to piss you off. Are you really going to give him the satisfaction?"

Blaise's arms circle me from behind, and his head lowers so that it's resting in the crook of my neck. I shrug my shoulders, but he just chuckles low in his throat and pulls me back against him.

"Let go of her!" Ron says angrily, drawing his wand.

"Ron, don't hex him. He's just being stupid."

I push his arms away from me and take a step forward, turning around to face him. He's smiling smugly and looking past me, no doubt proud of himself for turning Ron's face a brilliant shade of red.

"Get out of here," Ron growls.

I figure that having an audience will discourage these two geniuses from getting into a fight.

"Why don't all three of us just go downstairs for dinner?" I suggest.

Blaise smiles. "Sure."

I follow him out of the room, and a moment later, I hear Ron's footsteps behind me.

I'll have to have another talk with Blaise about boundaries again. I seem to have to remind him every now and then that Ron is hotheaded, so he shouldn't make jokes like that. It's been happening more and more often lately.

As we reach the kitchen and take our seats, I can't help but think back to that Death Eater again. Who would let me go and _why?_ I highly doubt that Blaise can find out anything just from the Death Eater's cloak, but I have faith in him. He's discovered more from less before—used a scrap torn from a Death Eater's robes to find his identity and his latest location. He refuses to share his secrets, but I'm sure I'll wear him down eventually.

I just hope he can pull another "miracle" and tell me who this mystery man is.


	4. Chapter 4 D

**Chapter 4**

I walk back down the hall yet again.

This is a ridiculous assignment. Why the bloody hell would Lord Voldemort be interested in a dagger?

I've checked all the bedrooms already. It's only a matter of time before someone comes and finds me here. I'm actually surprised that a member of the Order hasn't stumbled across me already. Isn't there supposed to be a patrol here?

I reenter the bedroom and rummage through the drawers yet again.

If only a Summoning Charm would work on that damned dagger.

I was only shown a picture of it, and I don't know anything about its history.

What's the point?

Then I see something glinting from the corner of my eye. Could it be under the bed? Can't believe I missed that before.

I take a knee and pick up the short, sheathed dagger. The hilt is golden, with a ruby and an emerald set into each side. The sheath also has precious stones embedded in the gold. It looks valuable, but since when has the Dark Lord ever been interested jewels and wealth?

I hear tentative footsteps in the hallway outside of the bedroom. Someone's trying to sneak up on me.

I tuck the dagger into an inner pocket of my robes and pretend not to notice, standing up slowly as though my attention is still on the ground.

Then I spin around and Disarm the intruder before he has the time to react.

Blaise?

I catch his wand and ask, "How did you know I was here?"

"I didn't. I'm just passing through."

"You're here alone?"

He nods.

"The Order doesn't have a patrol here?"

"Why aren't you killing me?" he asks, ignoring my question.

I wonder if he recognizes me behind the Death Eater mask.

"Because I can't," I say, going for the truth. "I couldn't then, and I can't now."

A pause.

"Draco?"

I tug down the collar of my shirt to show him the beginning of the thick, ropy scar that twists down and across my chest, the scar that he gave to me.

"You're still alive," he says quietly. "I haven't heard your voice for… years."

I nod. "It's been a while."

"Why don't you show me your face?" he asks.

We can't take our masks off unless we're at secure locations. New orders, but I honestly don't see the point. Rather stupid, actually. Some of us are recognizable by our voices anyway.

"I can't tell you," I reply. "I trust you won't kill me."

I toss his wand up in the air and watch as it flips a few times. I catch it by the tip and hold it out to him. He grips the handle and takes it from me tentatively.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks. "Even if you can't kill me, you could still capture me."

"What, and watch my best friend be tortured into submission or death? I did that once, and I won't do it again."

"Which of the two happened to Theo?"

I maintain a mask of indifference as I reply, "He was always his father's son."

Blaise nods, understanding. "I guess I would have expected that."

"Yeah."

"How's Vincent? And Gregory?"

I shake my head. "Oafs, the both of them. They're all right."

We share a laugh, and for a brief moment I wish that none of all the shit between us had ever happened.

I want my best friend back.

"I have to go," I say, walking past him and down the hall toward the living room. "It'd be best if we never mentioned this."

"Draco, wait."

I stop, but don't turn back to face him.

"Why don't you join us?" he asks. "Come to our side. I know that this wasn't what you wanted."

"You don't know that," I say shortly.

"You haven't let the war change you. That much is proof enough," he says.

"I can't do it. You know why."

"Then don't switch sides openly. Give us information. We need it, desperately. This war isn't getting any easier to fight, and without Snape—"

"I won't do what he did. My godfather died when he didn't have to," I say.

"Don't make him out to be a fool. You know why he did what he did."

"Yeah, that's right. He fell in love with a Mudblood."

"Well, you're not much better yourself."

Oh no, he did not.

I turn around, taking my time, and flick my wand once. Blaise tries to block my spell, but nothing happens when he waves his wand, and he's slammed backwards against a wall.

"Why can't I use my wand?" he asks, alarmed.

"I have powers that are greater than you'd think."

"Fine, then. Kill me."

"I already said that I couldn't," I say through gritted teeth. "So spare me your laugh-in-the-face-of-death speech. I am _nothing_ like my godfather."

"That's right, you just keep telling that to yourself. But I know the truth."

I glare at him.

Maybe I _don't_ miss my best friend so much.

"Would you do it for her?" he asks in a low voice. "You've already risked everything once. If you had the opportunity, I don't think you would hesitate to do it a second time."

I think about it, weighing the possibilities.

I'm naturally talented in Occlumency—I've long since surpassed Aunt Bella's abilities, and I'm sure I can do at least as well as my godfather against the Dark Lord's Legilimency. It'd be very difficult for them to catch me at work.

What would I have to lose?

The love of my mother, most likely. My father… I'm almost certain that that madman never loved me. And dear Aunt Bella, she'd try to gut me if she found out that I was even considering this. Oh and of course, I could always lose my life.

But is there anything to gain?

I'd certainly like to see Voldemort die. Or beg for mercy. That'd be a sight. But I don't think Potter has it in him to torture anyone, even if it _is_ the Dark Lord.

And _her_.

I don't even want to think her name.

But even as I try not to think about her, she crowds out all of the other thoughts that are jammed inside my mind. Her face blocks my vision—small chin, full lips, petite nose, rosy cheeks, and those rich brown eyes…

Fucking hell.

That woman will be the death of me, and she doesn't even know it.

"All right, then," I finally say.

Fuck. This is the moment I'm going to regret when I'm staring at the end of Voldemort's wand, waiting for my execution. I just know it.

"Tell Potter that I want to meet him in private."

"Do you have a location in mind?" Blaise asks, moving toward me.

I point my wand at him, and he stops in his tracks. "Spinner's End, in my godfather's old home. This exact time, next week. To show my sincerity, I won't even bring a wand. If I cannot make it, I will send a Patronus."

"I'll tell him."

"If he turns down the meeting, I'll know if he doesn't show up. Don't bother sending a message."

Blaise nods, and I turn to leave.

"Draco, you're doing the right thing," I hear him say from behind me.

"The right thing for me to do would be to stay alive," I reply. "This is most definitely _not_ the best way to go about doing that."

Before he can argue, I Disapparate.


	5. Chapter 5 H

**Chapter 5**

I officially hate meetings.

I hate listening to the debates going back and forth, hate that we have to make these decisions that lead to skirmishes and then deaths.

Back in school, I always loved to give my opinion. Everything was simple. Right or wrong. Any doubts? Check a textbook, or go to the library for an outside source.

But there _is_ no book on locations of the Death Eaters. There's no book that can give us the answers to our questions. Should we attack? Set up an ambush? Where is Lord Voldemort? Who can we trust? What should we do next?

I hate meetings.

Blaise finishes the description of his encounter with Draco Malfoy in Godric's Hollow last night.

I still don't understand. What was he doing there?

George voices my unspoken question.

"I don't know what he was doing," Blaise says. "Why is that so important?"

"He was in my old house. I want to know what he was doing rooting around in there," Harry says heatedly.

It's been two weeks since the fiasco at the Leaky Cauldron and my narrow escape from Hogwarts, and Harry has made a full recovery. Ginny, sitting beside him, was elated when he could finally stand up and walk around.

"I don't know what he was doing," Blaise repeats. "I'm sorry, Harry. I just feel that since he let me go, alive, there's a possibility that he'll make good on his offer to give us information."

"We could use the information. Mundungus isn't really that reliable," says Tonks.

She's still bitter about the burning that Lupin took for her.

"The Malfoys have always been a slippery family," Kingsley Shacklebolt says in his deep voice.

He's sitting at the far end of the table and acts as a sort of unofficial leader of the Order.

"I don't trust that boy," he continues. "Even if he's sincere right now, I'm willing to bet that it's only because circumstances favor supporting the Order against Voldemort for the time being. As soon as those circumstances begin to change, he'll turn against us."

"I'm telling you," Blaise says, "he was my best friend for years. We're honest with each other."

"But you've been apart for such a long time. How do you know he hasn't changed?" Ginny challenges him.

"I just know."

"I'm afraid just knowing isn't enough," Shacklebolt says. "I don't know how much more reliable gut feeling is than Mundungus's reports."

"Malfoy gave you that scar on your back, didn't he?" Ron says to Blaise.

"I didn't leave him unmarked, either," Blaise replies. "I say that we should at least give him the chance to _talk_ to us. We've gotten _nowhere_ without inside information. Without a spy, it's impossible to know what they're planning."

Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff in my year who joined the Order at the Battle of Hogwarts, speaks up. "But we've got Trelawney—"

I hold back a snort.

Sybill Trelawney still isn't credible in my book. I don't care if she was the one who made the prophecy about Harry and Voldemort. Divination as a subject is simply laughable.

"And a right lot of good she's doing with her so-called Sight," McGonagall says, expressing my thoughts. "She may be my friend, but she cannot use her powers at will. Without Severus, this war is getting more and more perilous. I think we can risk this."

Blaise looks surprised that he has McGonagall's support.

"Trusting a _Malfoy?_" says George, the one-eared twin.

"Are you daft?" Fred finishes.

"Honestly, McGonagall," says Lee Jordan. "You remember how he was at school, don't you?"

"We are in a war, boys," McGonagall says sternly. "It's about time you put House prejudices past you and started considering the entire picture."

"If we do go through with this," Lupin says, "we shouldn't let Harry go on his own. He'll have to have someone escorting him."

"I'm not a child," Harry protests.

"Yes, but you are too valuable to be put in danger so carelessly," says Shacklebolt.

"I could go with him," Ron offers.

Hotheaded as he is, I have to admit that he has improved at dueling and wouldn't be a bad choice for Harry to bring along—the two of them work remarkably well together due to their close friendship. I could never work with either of them as seamlessly as they work with each other.

"Are we really going to trust Malfoy?" asks Angelina from her seat beside Fred.

"We don't trust him," Shacklebolt says. "Harry and Ron will meet him to see what he has to say. If he seems trustworthy, they will render him unconscious and bring him here, so that there will be no risk of breaking the Fidelius Charm."

"But won't the Fidelius Charm prevent Malfoy from revealing this location anyway, since he isn't a Secret-Keeper?" Ron asks.

"If a Secret-Keeper is killed, then every person that he or she told will become a new Secret-Keeper," I remind him.

"Right."

Shacklebolt continues, "We will question and examine him. If we decide he is trustworthy—"

"Excuse me, but how exactly do you plan to do that?" Blaise asks. "Draco's always been naturally talented at Occlumency. We can't just break into his mind."

"We'll see about that," Shacklebolt says.

Then Mundungus appears, and I barely stop myself from going to strangle him. From the looks of other fellow Hogwarts students at the table, I'm not the only one who has these thoughts. He gave us faulty information that caused three deaths. It's going to take a lot for me to forgive him.

He starts reporting some information that he received from a group of smugglers that he's been traveling with this past week, and my mind begins to turn restlessly again.

* * *

"I can't wait to kill that bloody ferret," Ron snarls, pacing back and forth.

Harry, Ron and I are inside the boys' room. The Order meeting ended a short while ago, and we came up here to discuss the boys' impending meeting with Draco. We cast the Muffliato charm on the room a few minutes ago so that we could speak without worrying about being heard.

"You're not going there to kill him," I point out.

"In all likelihood, he's just trying to lure Harry there to kill him," Ron says. "And if that's the case, of course I get to kill him."

"We _do_ need information," Harry says. "As much as I hate Malfoy, we could use him."

I nod in agreement. "I want you two to be careful. You're both rash, and you know it. Don't put yourselves in danger unnecessarily."

"Yes, Mother," they chorus.

I reach out to smack Harry, but he dodges the blow, and I hit Ron instead. Well, I was going for him next anyway.

"Hey!" Ron says. "You're abusive."

Then the door swings open, and Blaise looks at us, surprised.

"I thought no one was in here," he says. Then he grins. "You lot are getting sloppy. First you forget to cast a Muffling Charm, and now you're forgetting to lock doors."

"Shove it, Zabini," says Ron.

He shrugs and starts to leave, but Harry stops him.

"Blaise, wait."

Blaise turns around. "Yeah?"

"I think it might be helpful if we know a little more about Malfoy's abilities. And since you're his best friend—"

"Hey, I haven't had a proper conversation with him in years," Blaise says as he reenters the room and shuts the door behind him. "Honestly, I don't know much about how his abilities have grown in all this time. But there _is_ one thing I want to warn you about. He seems to have learned something that allows him to stop us from using our wands."

"What do you mean?" I ask. "I've never heard of any sort of magic like that."

"I'm not sure what it is. I have a hunch that he might have to touch a wand in order to control it. But when I saw him, the first thing he did was Disarm me. He gave my wand back right away, but later on, when he threw me back against a wall, I couldn't block the spell."

My eyes widen. Harry and Ron look surprised as well.

"What do you mean, you couldn't block the spell?" Harry asks.

"I had the intention of using a Shield Charm, and it didn't work."

"Maybe you're just rusty," Ron says.

"Nonsense," Blaise snaps. "I'm excellent at nonverbal magic, and you know it."

"Yeah, there's no way Blaise would screw up a Shield Charm," Harry says to Ron.

Blaise takes one look at me and says, with a sly grin, "I bet Hermione's wishing for that Hogwarts library right about now."

I punch him in the shoulder, and he laughs.

"Don't laugh at me," I say. "Besides, wouldn't all of you like to know how he does that as well?"

"So I guess my best piece of advice for you two is, don't let him get a hold of your wand," Blaise says.

"Do you think it's some sort of Dark magic, then?" Ron asks.

"Probably," Blaise replies.

There's an awkward pause. Then I pull the door open and shove Blaise out of the room.

"We're going across the hall to discuss something," I say. "You two should probably talk out some sort of strategy for facing Malfoy. I'll come back in a few minutes."

Harry and Ron exchange surprised glances, but before they can comment, I exit the room and shut the door behind me. Blaise is looking at me with an amused expression. I cross the landing to the room that I share with Ginny and pull the door open.

"Get inside," I say.

He enters without complaint, and I push the door closed behind me when I'm inside.

"Muffliato."

"What are we talking about?" he asks.

"Do you have any idea who—"

"Still worrying about the Death Eater who set you free?"

I sigh. "Yes. Did you find anything out yet?"

He looks at me with something akin to sorrow in his eyes.

"What? Is it something awful?"

"No, no," he says quickly. "I haven't found anything out yet. I just don't like to see you bothering yourself so much about this."

I feel disappointed that he hasn't identified the Death Eater yet. But I suppose it _is_ asking a bit much to expect him to determine the identity of a Death Eater from one of their standard cloaks.

"Relax a bit, Hermione." He pauses, and then a grin spreads across his face. "Maybe I can help you with that."

I roll my eyes and open the door. "Go on, get out."

He exits the room, and I follow him out.

"Zabini!" Lupin calls from the foot of the stairs. "I was about to go looking for you. Can I have a word with you?"

"Sure," Blaise says. He flashes a smile at me before starting down the stairs.

I cross the landing to reenter the boys' room.

I wonder if Draco Malfoy would really turn spy for the Order. Not bloody likely. It's probably best to start planning ahead, coming up with ways for Harry and Ron to defeat him in a duel.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This is a warning! I'm feeling somewhat uninspired at the moment, and while I do have the next two or three chapters lined up, I'll probably slow down my updating so that I don't run out of chapters to post too soon. Sorry about that! I'll definitely let you all know ahead of time if I have to put this on hiatus to find inspiration.

If you haven't already checked it out, I'd like to recommend my other chapter story, _Vengeance_. The chapters are considerably longer than these ones, but I really enjoyed writing it and I'd love it if you'd give it a chance.


	6. Chapter 6 D

**Author's Note:** This is a completely useless author's note that you can disregard. I just wanted to say that I am somewhat annoyed by the new thing they've put to the right of the top line for sharing stories because that if I don't put an author's note at the top, then it pushes my chapter title to the left, making it off-center, which pisses off the OCD part of me.

Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

**Chapter 6**

I'm lounging in a worn-out, high-backed armchair facing the fireplace in my godfather's study. My mask is hanging on the armrest, and my extra cloak is draped over the back of the chair. It's already been twenty minutes, and still Potter hasn't shown.

I decide to give him ten more minutes before leaving.

Then I hear the floorboards creaking very quietly.

Someone's coming.

I wait calmly until they're in the room before letting my eyes wander up to the small mirror that hangs over the fireplace.

A head of red hair.

Why am I not surprised?

"This is hardly good for trust-building," I say.

I see his surprised expression, but then he looks at the mirror and scowls.

"I'm not here to build trust with you, you insufferable bastard. Now, what kind of information are you giving to us?"

I click my tongue and stand up, turning to face him. "Do you really think you can just show up, after I specifically asked to see Potter, and expect me to tell you what I know? Even after I kept my word and didn't bring a wand?"

He points his wand at me. "Yeah, I do expect that. I could kill you, and no one would care. I could just tell them that you attacked me."

"It's true. That's certainly something you could do. But you'd regret it."

Weasley narrows his eyes. "Why?"

"I won't tell you," I say. "I asked for Potter. I suppose since the Order doesn't care for my information, I'll just go back. It's safer for me that way, anyway."

I start to walk around the armchair.

"Don't move, or I'll blast your arse to hell," Weasley says.

I don't stop moving. "Go ahead," I say, stepping toward him.

He lets me pass by him.

"Answer me this," he says as I start walking down the hall, away from him. "Why would you offer information to us anyway?"

"Has it never occurred to you that you're not the only ones who want the war to be over?" I reply.

"Malfoy, wait," he says. "I'll take to you Harry."

I spin around and wait. So Potter is around here somewhere, after all.

"I'm only here to make sure that you held up your end of the deal," he continues. Then he points his wand at me. "Expelliarmus!"

Nothing happens, as expected.

I raise my hands to shoulder height and turn my palms out for him to see. "See that? No wand."

He glares at me. "Fine, let's go."

He storms down the hallway past me.

I smirk and follow him. We exit through the back door of my godfather's house.

Weasley raises his wand and whispers, "Expecto Patronum."

A silver dog emerges from the tip of his wand and flies off into the dark.

"Funny, Weasley, I would have thought your Patronus would be a weasel," I say.

"Yeah well, I'm sure yours isn't a bloody ferret either, so I suppose we'll both just have to be disappointed," he replies.

"So, why's it only you tonight, Weaselbee? Where's Know-It-All Granger? Or did she die already?"

He spins around, jabbing his wand into my chest. "I bet you'd love to hear that, wouldn't you? Asking something like that makes me question how much we can trust you," he growls.

I grin. "Sure, I wouldn't mind hearing it, but I don't know if I'd _love_ it."

His grip tightens on his wand. "You bloody—"

"Ron, stop," Potter says, stepping into view.

"Perfect Potter, here to save the day," I say sarcastically.

"Malfoy, I'm surprised you've lived so long," he responds. "I thought you'd be picked off in the first few fights."

I smirk. "Yeah, I'm just full of surprises, aren't I?"

"You wanted to talk to me," he says impatiently. "Talk."

"Sure. Come back inside, and we'll talk. Weasley has to stay outside, though."

"Anything you tell me, I'll tell him."

"I don't mind that. I don't care if he listens. I just don't want to hear his input, and since he seems to be unable to exercise self-control, it's better if he just hears about it later."

Weasley glares at me but manages to hold his tongue.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who's full of surprises," I say. "Come in then, Potter."

I walk back into my godfather's house without bothering to check if he's following. I enter the study and sit in front of my godfather's desk. Potter enters and sits across from me. He waves his wand to shut the door.

"Ron's waiting outside. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Surely Blaise told you why I wanted to see you," I say.

"He may have mentioned something about you wanting to provide information for the Order, but I wanted to hear it from you."

"Well, he wasn't lying. That's what I want to do."

"Why?"

"Why? Hmm, I don't know. Maybe because I'm tired of living comfortably and I'd like the excitement of being hunted down like a wild animal."

He raises his eyebrows.

"I suppose you want a nice little sob story from me, something that would make me different from all the other Death Eaters," I say. "I don't have one. I'm not going to tell you that I only became a Death Eater to please my parents, or that I was afraid of being killed by Voldemort if I didn't join. I joined because I wanted to."

"Then why are you thinking about switching sides now?"

Yeah, why the bloody hell _am_ I switching sides?

"Because I've decided that I hate war," I reply. "I don't like all the fighting that's been going on. I don't like hearing about friends dying. And if Voldemort wins this war, the killings will never stop. Even when he finishes killing Mudbloods, I'm sure he won't stop. He'll just find something new to exterminate. To stop the killing, the Light side has to win the war."

Fuck, I sound like a bloody environmental activist. Next thing you know, I'll be waving signs that say "Protect the Pygmy Puffs!"

"Well, if that's the truth, we want the same thing," Potter says.

Looks like he bought it.

"But you could have come long ago. I doubt it'd take three years for you to decide that you don't like war. Why are you coming now? There must be a reason why you've chosen to turn now."

I shake my head. "I didn't really have an opportunity before now, did I? It's not like I could march into your headquarters without getting my head blown off. That is, if I could _find_ your headquarters in the first place."

"I suppose that's true," he says. "What kind of information are you going to give us?"

"Anything that I think would be useful to you."

"Give me an example."

I lean back in my seat and steeple my fingers, thinking, deliberately taking my time. I don't know why it feels good to make him wait.

Finally, I speak, "I heard you were pretty badly injured at the Leaky Cauldron two weeks ago, and a rare herb was stolen from Hogwarts the same night. It's not a big leap to say one of your people stole it, is it?"

He shakes his head. "Go on."

His patience irks me, but I continue anyway, "Although they got away, it's not easy to get in and out of Hogwarts with our patrols. I could provide you with schedules, shift changes, patrol routes. And not just for Hogwarts. Is that a good enough example for you?"

He looks doubtful. "How would we know whether or not you're telling the truth?"

"How can you ever know if anyone's telling the truth?" I return.

He blinks, seemingly surprised by my reply.

"I can give you the times and locations of shift changes right now," I say.

"Why?"

"For the same reason that I didn't bring a wand tonight. Building trust."

He frowns. "All right, give them to me."

I pull open a drawer of my godfather's desk and take out a roll of parchment. "These are all the times and locations for shift changes at Hogwarts."

I pass the roll to Potter, who takes it and partially unfurls it.

"You can send someone out there, any scout, and check any one of those times. Or check all of them, if you want," I say.

"This is a risky position," he finally says. "I doubt you're going to give us information for free."

"Of course I won't," I reply. "I'm still a Slytherin. It's in our nature to think of our own needs."

"How could I forget?" he says sarcastically.

"I have only three conditions, and I trust they won't be hard for you to meet."

"What are they?"

"First, I will give information to only one person. Second, our rendezvous point will be known only to the two of us, and I will come and go as is convenient for me."

"Well, we can't give you complete freedom," Potter says, stopping me in the middle of listing conditions. "At least, not right from the start," he adds.

I frown.

"You'll have to be present for us to examine you," he explains. "It'll be just one time."

"Do you honestly think you'll be able to _examine_ me? I'm probably the best Occlumens there ever was."

"Whether or not that's true, you're probably the most arrogant bastard there ever was."

"Thank you," I say with a smile.

I watch his jaw clench as he attempts to control his temper.

"Regardless, you'll have to come," he says evenly.

I nod. "Very well."

"Then your last condition?"

"I'll choose my contact."

"Do you have anyone in mind?"

"I want Granger."

"No," he says immediately.

"Well then, I suppose that's that," I say, getting to my feet. "You can keep the list of shift changes. Call it a parting gift."

"Malfoy, hold it," Potter says. "Sit back down—please."

I watch him as I sit down. What's going on in that head of his?

"I want to know why you would ask for her," he says slowly.

"Why not?"

"I was under the impression that you hated her. Something about Mudblood scum, remember? I just want to know why you would choose her when there are so many other—"

"I have my reasons," I say. "Knowing my rationale won't help you if your goal is to persuade me to choose someone else. I won't change my mind. Now, make your decision. If you can't meet my conditions, I won't help you. After all, it's _my_ neck that will be going on the line."

"Let me think about it."

I shake my head. "I don't have time for that. Can we work together or not?"

"Don't you think you should at least give her a choice to reject you?" he asks.

"Potter, I don't have to _be_ here right now. I can stay on the winning side and be perfectly fine. I don't _have_ to help you. This is something you don't seem to understand."

"Oh I understand, all right," he says. "I just don't want—"

"Then it's simple," I cut him off. "I'll walk out, and we can act like this never happened."

I almost want him to turn down the deal. After all, offering this deal in the first place was a death wish. Who would be thick enough to do this? Oh right, _I_ would.

But he's considering it, and that's enough. I'm almost positive that he'll accept.

It's true that the Order is in trouble.

Although most members of the Order have remained unscathed, Muggle cities are being decimated all across the globe, and there isn't much they can do to stop us without inside knowledge so that they can reach the targeted cities in time to make a difference.

Finally, his green eyes meet mine. I can see that he's given up.

"Fine, I accept," he says.

"Good. When do you want to _examine_ me?"

He doesn't reply.

Since I still have eye contact with him, I dive into his mind. He flinches, and I can feel him scrabbling, trying to keep me out. But his walls are weak, and I pry them apart with hardly any effort.

I'm looking at the back of a rather large boy's head. What the…?

I try to move closer to the present. He's moving down a hallway at Hogwarts, and I hear soft sounds that seem to be someone crying. Then I recognize the voice—it's me. This must be sixth year.

Repressing the anger that rises as I remember how I was attacked, I continue flipping through memories.

I see a dingy room, with a long, very old-looking table in the middle. Many people that I recognize from school sit on either side. There's a fire roaring in the fireplace at the end. Kingsley Shacklebolt is speaking.

Yes, this is what I'm looking for.

I skip forward a few meetings until I hear my name.

"_Are we really going to trust Malfoy?"_ a dark-skinned girl asks.

I recognize her as one of the Chasers on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but I don't know which she is.

Then Kingsley Shacklebolt is speaking, "_We don't trust him. Harry and Ron will meet him to see what he has to say. If he seems trustworthy, they will render him unconscious and bring him here, so that there will be no risk of breaking the Fidelius Charm."_

Render me unconscious? Not without my permission.

I withdraw from Potter's mind, and he bolts to his feet.

"Malfoy, you had _no right_—"

"So, how are you planning to 'render me unconscious'?" I ask him.

He glares down at me.

"It's all right, go ahead and Stun me. I won't resist."

"I should kill you," he mutters, pointing his wand at me.

"You probably should," I reply, smirking.

A flash of red light blinds me.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I've got some new ideas to keep me going, so there is no need to worry, this story won't be going on hiatus for the time being. Yay!

Oh, and don't forget: review, review, review! :)


	7. Chapter 7 D

**Author's Note:** So I didn't originally plan to post two chapters in one day, but I figured, why not? I have a few chapters written out already, so I might as well give you guys a bit more to read today.

Read and review! :)

**Chapter 7**

My body feels really, really stiff.

I'm in a sitting position. Did I fall asleep waiting for Potter and Weasley?

I feel extremely groggy, and I can't open my eyes. I start to lift an arm and find that something's restraining me.

Ropes.

I'm tied to a chair. Then I can't possibly be at Spinner's End.

Oh.

I recall giving Potter permission to Stun me in order to take me to the headquarters of the Order. Ah, so I'm tied up at Order headquarters.

Finally, I open my eyes.

Facing me is an arc of four seats. Farthest to the right I see Professor McGonagall, stern as always. Beside her is Kingsley Shacklebolt, who doesn't look as intimidating as they always say. Lupin looks raggedy, as usual. And my disowned cousin, Nymphadora, sits next to him. I heard of their marriage. It's strange to actually see them together. I can't believe she chose to marry a werewolf.

Then again, I'm hopelessly attracted to a Mudblood, so I can't exactly judge her.

"You're awake," Nymphadora says.

I only nod in reply. I haven't spoken to her in years.

My eyes rest on Shacklebolt briefly, but I shift my gaze to Lupin soon after.

Shacklebolt is the only threat to me mentally. But I'm not worried. He can't be a more powerful Legilimens than Aunt Bella. I shift the barriers in my mind around, hiding away memories that are important to me or reveal secure locations.

"Hello again, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall says.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall."

She looks at me with a bitter expression. "Hogwarts has been closed for a few years now, Mr. Malfoy."

"You were still a professor," I counter.

"We understand that you would like to turn spy for us," Shacklebolt says.

His voice is deeper than I'd expected. It didn't sound this deep in Harry's memory.

"You understand correctly, then."

"Give us a reason to trust you," Nymphadora says.

"I don't have one," I say truthfully. "There's no reason for you to trust that I can give you any information that you need. But I can."

"Would you consent to being looked at through Legilimency?" Lupin asks.

"You're not a Legilimens," I say. "But sure, I don't mind."

I meet Shacklebolt's eyes steadily, prepared.

Then I feel the familiar sensation of a foreign mind probing into mine. I don't restrict his movement in my mind, knowing that he can't get behind any essential walls.

I'm four years old, running around in the vast gardens surrounding the Manor, followed by a house elf ordered to make sure of my safety.

He moves out of my childhood memories and skips forward a few years.

I'm walking out onto the Quidditch pitch with the Slytherin team, and we intercept the Gryffindor team. I recognize the way that Weasley and Granger run toward us. Words are exchanged between the captains. Aw, hell. Why did he happen to pick this memory?

I try to tune myself out, but I still hear those three words clearly in the voice of my twelve-year-old self. _Filthy little Mudblood_. Fuck.

He doesn't notice my discomfort. Aha, at least this means I've gotten even better at hiding.

He pushes on, going past my Hogwarts years.

I'm sitting in a meeting with other masked Death Eaters. Voldemort sits at the head of the table, looking extremely pleased. He dismisses everyone except for Aunt Bella and me. My father lingers in the doorway, but he leaves too. Voldemort congratulates me on a job well done with the Patil family, and I accept the praise in silence. Aunt Bella is positively beaming.

Shacklebolt is clearly interested in what I did to the Patils, so I produce the relevant memories for him.

This had been one of my more risky schemes. I was ordered to kill the twins and both their parents. Even the family dog had to go. Instead, I placed one of their distant relatives under the Imperius Curse and forced him to convince them that their lives were in grave danger. They went away with him to New Delhi.

When I knew they were out of the country, I exploded two pigs in their home. Disgusting and perhaps slightly inhumane, but it effectively convinced the Death Eaters who came to check on the Patils that I had done the job quite well.

After watching the memories that I pulled to the surface, he retreats from my mind. I'm surprised that he didn't stay longer to keep probing.

"The Patils are alive?" he says.

"Unless the Death Eaters found them in New Delhi, they are perfectly safe."

The others exchange surprised looks.

"Why did you do that?" Shacklebolt asks.

"Not out of the goodness of my heart, if that's what you're asking," I reply. "I just don't particularly like killing people so I avoid it whenever it's possible."

I can tell the other three Order members are itching to ask what exactly happened to the Patils, but Shacklebolt seems to be some sort of leader, and while he's still busy interrogating me, I'm sure they won't pester him.

He keeps his eyes on mine for another minute, keeping mum.

I wonder what's going on in his head. I'm not really concerned, just curious.

Finally, he speaks, "Malfoy, I don't trust you."

I smirk. "Surprise, surprise."

His face remains dispassionate. "You are going to have to let me look into your mind without interference if you want to gain my trust."

"I didn't interfere," I say innocently.

"Oh yes, you did," he replies. "Your walls are so cleverly concealed that they seem to be continuous with the rest of your thoughts. You feel absolutely no discomfort when there's a foreign presence in your mind. It'd be too easy for you to stow memories away."

"What gave me away?"

"I have years of experience. I can tell when difference there are barriers, cleverly concealed or not."

I nod. "Good for you. Well, it's a good thing that I'm not trying to gain your trust. I just want the war to be over, and I'd prefer it if the Light side won. I'm hoping Potter relayed what I said."

"That he did," Lupin says.

"He also said that you want Hermione Granger to be your contact," Professor McGonagall adds.

"True," I say.

"We haven't moved onto the issue of who is to be your contact just yet," Shacklebolt says.

"I won't let anyone inside my head with no restrictions," I say. "If you can't accept that, I'll leave."

Nymphadora laughs. "Leave? You're bound and wandless. How do you expect to leave?"

"I have my ways," I reply. "I already gave a scroll of information about shift changes at Hogwarts to Potter. I trust he handed them over to you?"

Shacklebolt holds up a scroll of parchment. "We've already made a copy. It's being checked as we speak."

"Efficient," I comment.

There's a long pause.

"It's up to you now," I say. "I've made my offer. If you don't want my help, just say so."

"Your decision was rather unexpected," Professor McGonagall says. "I don't feel like the rationale that you simply want the war to be over is enough to explain why you've come."

"People do unexpected things," I reply. I shift my gaze to my cousin. "I never would have expected you to marry a werewolf, Nymphadora."

"You know better than to call me that. And so what if I married a werewolf?"

I shake my head. "I'm not judging you, just saying that it was unexpected."

Another pause.

I understand that they're reluctant to trust me, being the son of Lucius Malfoy and nephew of Bellatrix Lestrange. And I don't exactly have a clean record myself. But this is taking up too much time. I don't know how late it is, and I have to get back to the Manor before sunrise.

"I don't have all night," I say. "I'd appreciate it if you made up your minds soon."

"Very well," Shacklebolt says. "I will allow you to speak with Miss Granger, but I want another look inside your mind before my final decision."

"Fine."

"Tonks, please tell Miss Granger that should we accept Malfoy's offer, she will be his contact."

"Just a moment," I say as Nymphadora gets to her feet. They all look at me, and I explain, "I don't want her to know that she was my choice."

"Why not?" Nymphadora asks.

"Just consider it a favor for me," I say. "I've already put my life on the line for you lot simply by being here."

Shacklebolt nods his consent.

"I'll tell her that we chose her because she's an Occlumens, then," Nymphadora says, walking past me toward the door.

"Thank you."

Her footsteps stop just behind me, and it isn't hard to guess that she's surprised by the two words that just came out of my mouth.

"You're welcome."

Then I hear the opening and closing of a door, and I meet Shacklebolt's eyes, prepared for round two.

This time I feel him scrabbling at the walls of my mind, trying to find a weak spot. He's uninterested in the memories that I've left in the open, trying for the ones that I've stashed away.

If I could chuckle right now, I would. Good luck to him.

When he can't find any weak spots, he starts ramming into the barriers repeatedly. A mild headache starts building up. This is getting annoying. But it's more annoying than it is painful. When Aunt Bella tries to drill through my defenses, it hurts like hell.

I don't know how much time passes before he finally gives up on me, but when he withdraws from my mind, I allow myself to relax.

Before anyone can speak, there's a sharp rap on the door.

Shacklebolt clears his throat and says, "Well, I said that you could speak to Miss Granger alone. She's here now. If you try anything—"

I smirk, my eyes still focused on his. "She has a wand while I'm still unarmed. And bound, for that matter. What could I possibly do to her?"

The three Order members get to their feet. As Shacklebolt reaches the door, Lupin waves his wand, and the ropes around me disappear.

"Behave yourself," Professor McGonagall says.

Suddenly I feel like I'm at Hogwarts again. It's a funny feeling, and I almost laugh aloud. Then the chair I'm sitting in morphs into a bench, and a long table appears before me. Interesting.

I hear the door behind me pulled open, followed by footsteps as they exit the room.

"Go ahead, Hermione," I hear Lupin say.

She's here.

Suddenly I'm nervous. What the fuck? I suppose it's because this will be the first time in three years that I'll be able to have a proper look at her.

There's a click behind me as the door shuts.

It's a short while before I finally hear her footsteps, but I force myself not to turn to look at her. She starts moving around to the opposite side of the table, and I lower my eyes to look at the imperfections in the wood. When she sits down, I lift my eyes to look at her.

I instantly feel like I can't breathe.

I didn't get a good look at her that night in the Forbidden Forest—it was too dark, and I'd just wanted to get her out of there alive. Now…

Her face is more beautiful than I'd remembered it. How can dirty blood matter when a Mudblood can look so perfect? There's a tiny cut marring her left cheek, and I have to stop myself from asking how she got it, from reaching out to touch it. Her large, chocolate-brown eyes meet mine, and I find myself wishing that she'll never look away.

Fuck me. I'm beyond hope.

She looks away quickly, and I rein in my emotions. Eventually, her eyes wander back up to meet mine, and she looks a little curious. I continue to watch her, waiting for her to speak first.

I'm lying to myself. I don't speak because I _can't_ speak. Where the fuck did my voice go?

Finally, she begins to speak in a soft voice. "Malfoy… it's been a long time."

I haven't heard her pretty voice in too long.

Fuck. I still can't get a word out. Locking eyes with her, I get my lips to form a small smile. She may have rendered me speechless, but I'll always be capable of looking cocky.

My smile seems to have unsettled her. I see a flicker of fear behind her eyes. Is she afraid of me?

"Say something," she says.

_Finally_, my voice decides to return.

"Hello, Granger. You look well."


	8. Chapter 8 H

**Author's Note:** Thanks for all the reviews, they're very encouraging! I'm considering posting a chapter a day, but we'll see how that goes. Happy reading! :)

**Chapter 8**

"I wonder what's taking so long," Ron says, pacing back and forth in front of the door.

"Just be patient," Harry replies.

I roll my eyes at the pacing redhead before turning to look around at the others.

Fred, George and Lee are huddled together down the hall by the door, speaking in low voices so that we can't hear them. Katie's leaning against the wall on my left. Ginny's standing on my right and looking up at Harry, daydreaming.

The rest of us are gone. Charlie's staying with Mrs. Weasley and Bill at Shell Cottage, along with some other Hogwarts students in the Order. Neville and Blaise have been gone on separate missions all week. Angelina and Alicia, the last two people staying at Grimmauld Place, just left on a mission to check the information that Malfoy provided about Death Eater patrols at Hogwarts.

We decided not to reconvene this week—meetings are too risky to hold so often. But Lupin and Tonks are both here, along with Shacklebolt and McGonagall. The "adults" usually don't leave us out when they meet anymore, but tonight's different, they said. Deciding whether or not Malfoy is trustworthy is something worth looking into. It's true, but I don't know what they don't want us to see.

In any case, I don't think there's much of a chance that he's being honest. I've seen that people can change for the better—after all, back at Hogwarts, I never would have thought that I'd be friends with Blaise Zabini. But surely, Draco Malfoy is a lost case. He was a Death Eater even back when we were still in school!

I'm surprised that Harry and Ron decided to take him back here at all. But according to Harry, he didn't bring a wand and allowed himself to be Stunned, which is already more than I had expected.

"What do you reckon Lee and the twins are talking about?" Ginny muses aloud.

"Probably some new practical joke," Katie says.

I note that Ron's glowering at Harry. What happened out there?

Then Ron says, "Hermione, there's something that Harry should probably tell you."

"What is it?" I ask.

"Erm…" Harry says uncomfortably. "Ron, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Ron sighs but nods, and they head off for their room upstairs.

"Wonder what Harry was going to tell you," Ginny says.

I shrug. "I'll just ask them later, I guess."

Then the door to the kitchen opens, and Tonks steps out. She closes the door behind her quickly, before any of us can see inside.

"Hermione, can I talk to you upstairs?" she asks.

I nod and follow her up to my room. She locks the door and casts a Muffling charm on it before turning to face me, an apologetic look on her face.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"We're going to accept Malfoy's offer," she says.

"Really?" I say, surprised.

She nods.

"Why do you have to tell me separately from the others?" I ask.

Tonks looks hesitant, but I don't press her.

Finally, she speaks. "We erm, we've decided that it'll be safest if he only has one contact in the Order, and it'd be best if it was an Occlumens, so he can't easily use Legilimency—"

Shit. I can already see where this is going…

"—to steal our information, if he _does_ betray us in the future. And Kingsley thinks it'd be better for him to interact with someone his own age, so—"

"So you've chosen me," I say.

Tonks nods. "I'm sorry. But I do think you're a very good choice—you're brilliant. You might be able to tell from the facts whether or not he's lying."

"I don't understand. Why does it have to be someone his age? Did Shacklebolt explain?"

"No. I'm sorry," Tonks repeats.

"It's… it's all right," I say. "I should probably have a talk with him then, right?"

She nods again.

"Let's go, then."

I walk past her and exit the room.

Why me?

Oh, this is so typical. Me and my bad luck. Of all the people they could have chosen…

It's true that I'm the only one in the younger generation who was successful with Occlumency. I just don't understand why they couldn't choose any of the more experienced members to be his contact.

When I reach the others on the first floor, no one speaks.

What do they think Tonks told me?

Tonks raps on the kitchen door, and it swings open. Shacklebolt exits the kitchen, followed by McGonagall and Lupin.

"Go ahead, Hermione," Lupin says, gesturing toward the entrance.

A sense of foreboding fills me as I step into the kitchen. The door closes behind me, and my eyes fall on the back of Malfoy's head—he's sitting at the long kitchen table with his back to me.

For some reason, I can't seem to find my voice. I walk around the table to sit down across from him. This is the first time I've seen his face in three years.

Back in school, I'd conceded that he was an attractive boy; I would have been blind if I didn't see that. His face hasn't changed much at all, maintaining the same flawless, aristocratic features. But his grey eyes are fixed on mine, ablaze with a new intensity that makes me feel like I've never seen them before.

I quickly look away from them, focusing instead on his hands, which are clasped together on the table in front of him. I never noticed how long and thin his fingers were. A thick ring bearing the Malfoy crest rests on his right ring finger, and I wonder how he could ever betray his family. He bragged incessantly about his father back at Hogwarts—why would he ever choose to betray him?

I glance back up to see that he has an unreadable expression on his face, and I begin to wish I could see into his head.

What is he thinking? Why is he staring at me like that?

As I consider my situation, it suddenly seems more difficult to breathe. I've been left alone with a Death Eater. It helps to know that he's unarmed, but Blaise's warning about how he doesn't know the extent of Malfoy's powers still worries me.

The tension between us could be cut with a knife.

I sense that he's waiting for me to speak first, so I clear my throat, keeping my eyes on his face. A flicker of some expression crosses his face, but it passes too quickly for me to identify. Something akin to amusement, maybe? This irks me as much as it frightens me—how is he so at-ease?

"Malfoy," I say quietly. "It's been a long time."

He smiles at me but doesn't speak.

God, he's even more terrifying when he smiles. I wish he'd revert to his famous smirk—at least that's a familiar expression that I can handle.

"Say something," I say.

Oh, I sound pathetic.

"Hello, Granger. You look well," he says.

His voice sends chills through me, and I look away from him. What the hell is wrong with me tonight?

He stands and starts walking around the table toward my side. I keep my eyes on him until he reaches my side of the table. I don't want to look afraid by twisting around just to keep him in sight at all times—after all, he _is_ unarmed.

I will _not_ be intimidated by him.

"I heard that your family lost Voldemort's trust," I say, looking at the closed kitchen door across from me.

He doesn't reply, and I hear his footsteps stop right behind me.

My heart is hammering in my chest. He's never had any sort of effect on me before, so I don't understand why I'm reacting this way.

"What are you doing?" I ask in a deceptively even voice.

His hands lightly rest on my shoulders, and I fight the urge to jerk away from his touch. There's a lump in my throat, and I swallow hard in an attempt to make it go away.

I feel his warm breath against my ear as he whispers, "I'm testing you."

"Get away from me," I say, shrugging his hands off me.

He backs off, and I can breathe normally again.

"The others have decided that I'll be your contact," I say.

He chuckles. "Yes, I see that."

I hate that he's behind me, so I turn around on the bench and face him. He's standing closer than I'd expected, and I lean back slightly against the table to put just a bit more distance between us.

"Why can't you just sit at the table like a normal person?"

"I'm hardly a _normal_ person now, am I?" he replies.

"Well, it's nice to see that this war hasn't hurt your ego in any way," I say sarcastically.

He scrutinizes me for a moment, and though I start to feel uncomfortable, I meet his eyes without wavering.

"We should probably set up some rules for meeting," I say.

"Sure," he says, casually leaning back against the wall behind him.

Looks like he doesn't plan to help me. So typical of him.

"Do you have a meeting spot in mind?" I ask.

"Hmm, no. No, I don't," he says.

"And how are we going to contact each other? It'll have to be something better than a Patronus or an owl—that's much too obvious."

He smiles again, and I can't seem to take my eyes off him. His face just lights up when he smiles. I wonder why I never noticed before. Oh, it must have been because I was too busy being offended by the label he'd given me: Mudblood Granger.

"That I already have covered," he says.

He reaches into his back pocket, and I instinctively whip my wand out.

"Calm down, Granger," he says, looking at me with an amused expression.

He pulls his hand back out of his pocket, but I can't see what he took out. He holds a closed fist in front of my face, and I look between his face and his fist.

"What are you playing at?" I ask.

He opens his hand, palm face-down, and a gold chain dangles in front of my face. A small, gold, heart-shaped charm hangs on the chain.

"What's this for?"

"I got this idea from you, actually," he says. "A Protean Charm, like the one you did on all those fake Galleons for Dumbledore's Army in fifth year."

I bite my lip and reach out for the necklace, but he pulls it back, shaking his head.

"What? Surely I have to have one, if that's how we're going to communicate," I say.

"Stand up."

I glare at him. "I'm not taking any orders from you, Malfoy."

"Stand up, _please_," he says, smirking.

Oh, I can't _stand_ this man. I get to my feet, and he gestures for me to turn around. I'm reluctant to turn my back to him, but I do so anyway.

He throws the necklace over my head and pulls the ends behind my neck to fasten them together. I pick up my hair to make it easier for him. His fingers brush lightly over the back of my neck, sending chills down my spine.

Why am I so sensitive to _everything_ about him tonight? It's getting on my nerves.

When the necklace is secure, I step away and turn around to face him.

"Perfect length," he says with a small smile.

I frown—this necklace is hardly the perfect length. The chain is too long; the charm hangs between my breasts. I finger the small golden heart.

"A heart, Malfoy?"

"Girly enough for you to wear, Granger?"

"Sure. What's your object?" I ask.

He reaches up and traces a silver chain around his neck to the front, pulling the charm out from under his shirt. For a second, I almost think it's going to be another heart—that would be _too_ funny. But of course, it isn't. The charm on his chain is a silver oval with a serpent engraving.

"So, how are these going to work? Will a date appear on the back?" I ask him.

He fists his hand around his charm and closes his eyes. I watch him suspiciously and then jump in surprise as the charm that's hanging from my neck burns me through my clothes.

I point my wand at him, prepared to use it if the necklace starts choking me or hurting me—if he's going to strangle me, I'm taking him to the grave with me.

Then he opens his eyes.

"So tense, Granger," he says.

He opens his fist, and the heart stops burning me. I lift up the charm with my left hand and see that a date and time have appeared on one side. Glaring at him, I lower my wand.

"That solves date and time. As for the place… I think I know the perfect place," he says.

"Where?"

"I'd rather just take you there."

"I'm not going to just Apparate somewhere with you," I say.

"Well, I can't take you anywhere by Apparition anyway—I don't have a wand. Come, let's go."

He starts to walk around the table, and I grab his arm.

"We're not going anywhere until you tell me where we're going," I say.

He slowly turns back to look at me, and his eyes fall to my hand, which is still gripping his arm tightly. I release him as though I've been burned.

"Follow me, Granger. I won't ask twice."

I glare at him. "I already said this once—don't make me repeat it again. I am _not_ taking _any_ orders from you, Malfoy."

"All right, then. I'll leave."

"Fine. Leave."

He walks around the table and towards the door but stops before he reaches it.

I wait patiently for him to turn around. For some inexplicable reason, I _know_ that he won't just leave like this.

I can't say what makes me so sure of it.


	9. Chapter 9 H

**Author's Note:** Now that I've started switching perspectives inconsistently, I think I'll label the chapters in the drop-down menu at the top right with "H" or "D" for simplicity. Oh, and I wanted to apologize ahead of time, because not much happens in this chapter and it's relatively short… I probably should have stuck it on the end of chapter 8. I'll make sure to update soon!

**Chapter 9**

Finally, he turns around.

"Fine, you win. There's an Imperturbable Charm on this door, right?"

I nod.

"All right then. I'm going to take you to a cottage in Bradford on Avon, in Wiltshire."

"Wiltshire? Isn't your home in Wiltshire?"

He nods. "Yes, but we're obviously not going there. Now come on."

I still don't move. "Why do we have to go _now?_ Can't you just give me the location?"

"As I said before, I'd much rather just take you there."

"That makes me think you have an ambush awaiting me there."

"What are you, scared?"

I glare at him. "I am _not_ scared."

"That's exactly what you are," he says, smirking. "You're scared of me."

"Fine, let's go."

I know that I shouldn't let him goad me like that, but he's always brought out the more reckless side of me. I walk around the table and toward him, tucking the heart-shaped charm under my shirt.

He grins triumphantly and pulls on the kitchen door, holding it open for me.

Only Shacklebolt, McGonagall, Lupin, Tonks, Harry and Ron are standing outside, and they look surprised by our appearance.

"We're going for a walk," Malfoy says nonchalantly. "I'll let her return unharmed, on my honor. But I myself won't be back for a long time, so I suppose this is goodbye."

"Just a minute, Mr. Malfoy," Shacklebolt says, stepping into our path.

I look up at him and move to the side so that I'm not between him and Malfoy. I hear him begin to ask Malfoy where we're going, but I'm distracted when Ron tugs on my arm.

"Hermione—you're not really going to go with him, are you?" he whispers.

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" I say. "Tonks told me that the others—Shacklebolt, McGonagall and Lupin—all decided on me."

"Did they tell you why?"

"Of course they did. Do you really think I'd agree to work with Malfoy without making sure it was absolutely necessary first?" I hiss back at him.

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry says.

"You'd think Blaise would have been a better choice," Ron mutters, looking at Harry.

Then Malfoy's hand is on my shoulder.

"Come on, Granger. We don't have much time before I'm expected back home," he says.

I nod and start walking toward the exit, but Ron grabs onto my arm.

"What are you doing?" I ask, jerking my arm out of his grasp.

"Oi, Malfoy. If you lay a finger on her, I'll hunt you down," he says.

Malfoy opens the front door of Grimmauld Place and gestures for me to exit. I frown at him but walk out of the house, surprised that he didn't have some snide comeback for Ron.

I open my mouth to ask how he expects to get all the way from London to Wiltshire without Apparating, but my voice dies in my throat when I see him pull a broomstick out of a pouch.

Merlin, save me.

Sure, I've been fighting in this war for something like three years now, but I still can't fly a broom on my own, and I still haven't been able to overcome my terror of heights.

When I hear him chuckling, I know that the fear must have shown on my face.

"Shut up, Malfoy. Can't we just…"

I can't think of any other mode of transportation. It'd be laughable to suggest the Knight Bus—both of us have well-known faces at this point in the war.

"Well, if you want me to take you there by Side-Along Apparition, I won't object, but you'll have to lend me your wand," he says.

No. No way that's going to happen, not after Blaise warned us not to let him get a hold of our wands. I find it hard to believe that there's really magic out there that can give anyone control over another's wand, but I'm not willing to take that chance.

He's already mounted the broom.

"Malfoy, isn't there any other way?" I ask, desperation showing in my voice.

He smiles crookedly. "Is poor Granger still afraid of flying?"

"Still?"

"Sure. Everyone at Hogwarts knew that Granger the bookworm couldn't fly a broom to save her life."

Fury rises up in my chest again, and I mount the broom behind him, placing my hands gingerly on his shoulders. He chuckles again and reaches up to shift my hands to his hips.

I drill holes into the back of his head with my eyes. I hate that he finds me so amusing.

"You should probably cast a Disillusionment Charm over us, so that we're not seen," he says.

I draw my wand and cast the charm, then stow it back in my robes. He disappears, and I can't see myself either. I find his hip again and place my hand on it lightly. I don't want to touch him.

"You might want to hold on a bit tighter."

Before I can respond, he kicks off, and I let out a frightened squeak before shutting myself up. We're already soaring above the roof of Number 12, and I'm digging my fingers into his hips, terrified of slipping off the end of the broom but loath to scoot any closer to him.

"Granger, either put your arms around me or just tell me to touch back down. I won't have you boring holes into my waist," Malfoy growls at me.

He sits up straight, and we come to a stop, floating high above the ground. I can't see him, can't see myself, can't see the broom that we're sitting on, and it's absolutely terrifying. I slide my hands around to his front, and my trembling fingers clasp together. I pull myself forward, leaning into him. I glance down again and whimper, squeezing my eyes shut and telling myself repeatedly that I won't fall.

I'm such a coward when it comes to heights. _Why_ is it that everyone else is so comfortable with flying at heights, from which falling would mean almost inevitable death?

"Hold on tight," he says.

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he leans forward, and the broom shoots forward at a ridiculously fast speed. Fighting the urge to scream, I tighten my arms and lean forward with him, flattening myself against him. I don't really know why, but having someone to cling to makes me feel safer, even if it _is_ Malfoy.

Please, please, _please_ let this flight end soon.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I took some time to think about how I'm going to do dialogue between Draco and Hermione, because I wasn't sure if you guys would want to read the same conversation twice, and I definitely don't want to mix viewpoints in the same chapter because that'd be too confusing. But since it's my story, I decided I'm going to write each scene between them twice. Hope you're all okay with that! If not… oh well, I'm sorry.

So, you'll get to read Draco's take on this conversation in the next chapter!


	10. Chapter 10 D

**Author's Note:** Two chapters in the same day again, but I felt like I owed you guys another chapter since that one was so pitifully short. Hope you like this one!

**Chapter 10**

"Hello, Granger. You look well."

Her eyes move away from mine, and there's a strange twisting feeling in my chest. To hell with it, I want to be closer to her. I get to my feet and start to walk around the table.

She doesn't turn to look at me. "I heard that your family lost Voldemort's trust," she says.

Yeah, right. My _father_, maybe. I personally haven't lost anything.

I stop right behind her as she finishes speaking.

"What are you doing?" she asks me.

I gently place my hands on her shoulders. She stiffens just slightly, and I can't help but smirk. So she _is_ affected by my presence. I lean down and inhale silently, and the flowery scent of her hair fills my nose, distracting me momentarily.

Then I place my lips near her ear and whisper, "I'm testing you."

She shrugs her shoulders, and I remove my hands.

"Get away from me," she says.

I take a small step back.

"The others have decided that I'll be your contact," she says when I don't speak.

I chuckle. "Yes, I see that."

She turns around to face me, and this stupid hope rises in my chest that she wants to see my face. More likely than not, she simply wants to keep me in her sights because she doesn't want to be attacked.

"Why can't you sit at the table like a normal person?" she asks.

"I'm hardly a _normal_ person now, am I?"

"Well, it's nice to see that this war hasn't hurt your ego in any way," she says, her voice layered with sarcasm.

I take a moment to consider whether or not she could ever understand me. I'm not egotistical just for the sake of being egotistical—it's part of my self-defense. But she's a Gryffindor. They don't understand the way that we Slytherins think. They can't.

"We should probably set up some rules for meeting," she says.

I lean back against the wall. "Sure."

"Do you have a meeting spot in mind?" she asks.

I think about it. "Hmm, no. No, I don't."

"And how are we going to contact each other? It'll have to be something better than a Patronus or an owl—that's much too obvious."

I smile. "That I already have covered."

I reach into my back pocket to pull out the necklace that I chose for her, and in the blink of an eye, she has her wand out, pointed at me. I know that she's always this cautious—and she's right to be, seeing as I'm a Death Eater—but there's still this pang in my chest, and I realize that I want her to trust me.

I cover up my weak emotions with an amused smile.

"Calm down, Granger."

Then I pull out the necklace in my fist and hold it out in front of her face. She wears a guarded expression, but I can tell she's curious.

"What are you playing at?" she asks.

I grin and open my fist, dangling the necklace in front of her.

I bought it from Anderlini, a renowned dealer in Rome—Blaise introduced us several years back. Since he and his family were Purebloods, he was able to continue his work in peace. When I visited him last week, he did complain that he was losing a lot of business due to the war.

I knew that I couldn't pick an ostentatious necklace because she wouldn't wear it. I chose this one because Anderlini said it would bring the wearer "peace and clarity of mind". Sounded perfect for Granger. She's never at peace, and she thinks too much. I figured she could use some clearing of the mind occasionally. Of course, I've never tried anything from Anderlini's so I can't possibly know if his charmed jewelry works or not.

I brought it home and cast a few charms on it myself to prepare it.

"What's this for?" she asks.

"I got this idea from you, actually," I say. "A Protean Charm, like the one you did on all those Galleons for Dumbledore's Army in fifth year."

She reaches out for the necklace, but I pull it away, shaking my head at her.

I have to put the necklace on her myself, if the charm is going to take effect. There is not a charm or potion in the world that can create attachment between two people, so it's a good thing that that's not what I'm going for. As long as she's protected, I'm satisfied.

Fuck, I'm turning into a useless, besotted idiot. I'm going to have to do something about that.

"What?" she says, surprised. "Surely I have to have one, if that's how we're going to communicate."

"Stand up," I say, earning a glare from her.

"I'm not taking any orders from you, Malfoy."

I smirk. "Stand up, _please_."

She continues to glare at me, but she stands up. I gesture for her to turn around, and after a moment of hesitation, she does. I put the chain around her neck, and she pulls her hair out of the way so I can fasten the ends of the necklace together.

My fingers burn where they come into contact with the warm skin of her neck. She stiffens again, much like she did when I touched her shoulders, and I wonder if she feels it too.

As soon as I finish putting the necklace on her, she takes a step away from me and turns.

I give her a small smile. "Perfect length."

The necklace really _is_ the perfect length—it has to be long enough for her to lift up the charm and see the date without having to find a mirror or take it off.

"A heart, Malfoy?" she says, lifting an eyebrow.

"Girly enough for you to wear, Granger?" I retort.

"Sure. What's your object?"

Instead of replying, I pull out my own necklace. I've been wearing this silver chain for years—it was a gift from my mother. I feel a twinge of guilt as I recall that I'll be using the necklace that my mother gave me to betray her side. I don't like being a traitor. Puts a bad taste in my mouth.

But the only way for Granger to be safe is if the Light side wins. I honestly don't give a fuck about all the killing, as long as _I_ don't have to participate in it. But if the Dark side wins, she'll be captured, or tortured, or killed trying to turn the tables. And I can't stand the thought of any of those three fates befalling her.

"So, how are these going to work? Will a date appear on the back?"

Her voice takes me back to the present. Damn it, she has _no_ idea what kind of mental torment she's putting me through.

I fist my hand around my charm and close my eyes. I focus on tomorrow's date, midnight. The charm burns my hand lightly, and I open my eyes up to see that she's pointing her wand at me again, eyes narrowed.

"So tense, Granger."

I open my fist and let the charm fall back against my chest. She lifts up her small golden heart and appears satisfied with the date and time that are etched on one side. She glares at me and lowers her wand.

"That solves date and time," I say. "As for the place… I think I know the perfect place."

"Where?"

"I'd rather just take you there."

"I'm not going to just Apparate somewhere with you," she says.

"Well, I can't take you anywhere by Apparition anyway—I don't have a wand. Come, let's go."

I start to walk away from her, and her hand shoots out to grab my arm, stopping me.

"We're not going anywhere until you tell me where we're going," she says.

I feel like flames are blazing their way up my arm from the place where her hand comes into contact with me, even though I'm wearing a long-sleeved shirt and our skin isn't touching. I turn back to look at the hand that's setting me on fire.

Fuck. No one should ever be able to affect me like this. Just a touch from her, and my blood is boiling.

Thankfully, she releases my arm quickly.

"Follow me, Granger," I growl. "I won't ask twice."

"I already said this once—don't make me repeat it again. I am _not_ taking _any_ orders from you, Malfoy."

"All right, then. I'll leave, and that'll be the end of it," I say.

"Fine. Leave."

I walk around the table and start toward the door, but my feet stop taking orders from my mind before I can leave the room. I _hate_ not having a choice. Reluctantly, I turn around.

"Fine, you win," I say. "There's an Imperturbable Charm on this door, right?"

She nods.

"All right then. I'm going to take you to a cottage in Bradford on Avon, in Wiltshire."

"Wiltshire? Isn't your home in Wiltshire?" she asks.

I nod. "Yes, but we're obviously not going there. Now come on."

I start toward the door, but still she doesn't budge.

"Why do we have to go _now?_ Can't you just give me the location?" she asks.

"As I said before, I'd much rather just take you there."

"That makes me think you have an ambush awaiting me there," she says.

"What are you, scared?"

This earns another glare from her.

"I am _not_ scared," she says defensively.

Aha, I'm still just as good as I used to be at pissing her off. I smirk. "That's exactly what you are. You're scared of me."

"Fine, let's go."

She walks toward me, tucking the charm under her shirt as she comes closer. I turn and pull the door open, waving for her to go ahead.

Potter and Weasley are in the hall, along with Shacklebolt, McGonagall, Lupin and Nymphadora. They seem surprised that we emerged so soon.

"We're going for a walk," I say, following Granger out of the kitchen. "I'll let her return unharmed, on my honor. But I myself won't be back for a long time, so I suppose this is goodbye."

"Just a minute, Mr. Malfoy," Shacklebolt says, blocking our way.

Granger steps aside, as though she'd been in the way of our conversation.

"Where do you think you're going?" the tall, dark man asks me.

"To set our rendezvous point," I reply, noting from the corner of my eye that Weasley has one of his paws on Granger's arm. Anger flares up inside me, but I tamp it down. It won't do to explode now.

Shacklebolt eyes me suspiciously. McGonagall gives me a small smile. I suppose Shacklebolt shared the story of the Patil family with her—one of those twins was from her house, after all.

"Very well," he finally says. "Go on."

I put my hand on her shoulder but don't feel that burning sensation. Maybe she has to initiate contact. Hmm, maybe I don't understand myself as well as I thought.

"Come on, Granger," I say. "We don't have much time before I'm expected back home."

She starts walking toward the exit, but Weasley grabs onto her arm again. I want to pry his fingers off and break them one by one, but she tugs her arm away from him, and the surprised look on his face makes me feel better.

Fuck. I'm jealous. That's why I was pissed to see him touching her. Jealousy is _not_ an emotion that befits a Malfoy. Now I'm furious with myself.

I hear my name.

"Oi, Malfoy," the weasel says. "If you lay a finger on her, I'll hunt you down."

I reach out and open the door for Granger. She exits, and I follow her out. Before closing the door, I consider replying to Weasley, but I find that I just can't bring myself to care. I pull the door shut and reach into my pocket, taking out an emerald-green pouch. I reach inside and extract my Nimbus 2001. My father offered to buy me a Firebolt, but I actually rather like this broomstick.

I'm about to mount the broom when I see the look on Granger's face. I can't hold back the laughter.

"Shut up, Malfoy," she says, cheeks reddening. "Can't we just…"

She stops, and I wonder what she would propose as an alternative.

"Well, if you want me to take you there by Side-Along Apparition, I won't object, but you'll have to lend me your wand," I say.

When she doesn't reply, I figure she's running circles in that giant brain of hers, trying to think her way out of getting on a broom. Grinning, I tuck the green pouch back into my pocket and mount.

"Malfoy, isn't there any other way?"

I smile. "Is poor Granger still afraid of flying?"

"Still?"

"Sure. Everyone at Hogwarts knew that Granger the bookworm couldn't fly a broom to save her life."

She looks positively livid, but she's still quivering a little with fear. She mounts the broom behind me and puts her hands on my shoulders, barely touching them. I fight the urge to shiver as all the hairs on my back stand up. I bark out a short laugh and move her hands to my hips—she's going to fall if she holds onto my shoulders like that.

"You should probably cast a Disillusionment Charm over us, so that we're not seen," I remember.

I feel that odd sensation of having an egg cracked over my head and know that she's cast the charm. Her hand touches my hip again lightly, and I draw a long, quiet breath, thinking furiously of Vince's big mother in an attempt to suppress the immediate reaction down below.

"You might want to hold on a bit tighter," I say.

Then I kick off, and she makes a sound that I find—oh, fuck me—adorable.

I bring us up above the roof of Number 12 before slowing down. Her fingers are gripping me almost painfully, and I don't think I'll be able to stand having those nails digging into me through my clothes for the whole ride.

"Granger, either put your arms around me or just tell me to touch back down. I won't have you boring holes into my waist," I say.

I slow to a stop and wait. Her hands slowly slide around to my front, and her fingers clasp together just below my navel. Then she pulls herself forward, and I feel her small, warm body pressing against my back. My heart rate increases, and I have difficulty swallowing.

Fuck! Mrs. Crabbe, Mrs. Crabbe, Mrs. Crabbe…

"Hold on tight," I manage to say.

Then I lean forward, and we glide off toward the west. Her arms tighten around me, and she leans forward as well, closing the distance between our upper bodies.

I try to pretend she's holding me because she wants to, but I know that she's just caving to her fear of heights.

Still, the hopeless idiot inside of me, the culprit behind all these recklessly stupid decisions, wishes that she has some inkling of feeling for me.


	11. Chapter 11 D

**Author's Note:** I was going to think about something to write up here so that the chapter title wouldn't be pushed to the left, but I really couldn't think of anything to tell you, but I still didn't want the chapter to be off-center, so this is the author's note that I ended up writing. Happy reading!

**Chapter 11**

I touch down in a small garden. All the plants inside are enchanted to grow without care, a trick I learned from Naree, one of our house-elves. He told me what the magic had to do, and I just had to find the correct words to make it happen.

I start to dismount, but she hasn't released my waist yet. I clear my throat, and she pulls her hands back with a jolt. She dismounts quickly and takes a few steps away from me.

As I stow the broom away, I hear her walking toward the cottage.

"Mind lifting the Disillusionment Charm?" I ask.

She appears, and then her wand taps the top of my head, and I can see myself again.

"We're going to meet here, then?" she asks me.

I walk past her, open the back door, and enter a small sitting room. I wave my hand at the fireplace, and orange flames burst into life. I relax into a couch and wait for her to come in.

This is my only real home. It was the only gift worth receiving from my father, aside from my Nimbus 2001, of course. He gave me the money for it, but I never told him which house I had chosen to buy, or where it was located.

The first thing I did was learn how to cast the Fidelius Charm so that I could protect my home. I am the only Secret-Keeper, and I've told no one. Blaise and Theo know of its existence, but I've only mentioned it in passing. They asked to see it, but at the time, I couldn't stand the thought of sharing this with anyone. I still don't think I can let anyone in.

But Granger… I somehow feel no need to hide from her. Maybe that means I should be even more diligent in hiding myself from her.

She walks inside slowly, looking around warily.

"There aren't Death Eaters hidden in the walls," I say.

She looks at me, clearly annoyed, and repeats the question she'd asked me outside. "Are we going to meet here, Malfoy?"

"Yes, this is where we're going to meet," I reply. "It'll be safer if you Apparate straight into this room."

"Who lives here?" she asks.

I shake my head. "No one."

She frowns and looks around the room. "How did you—"

"You should leave. I have to get going too," I say, getting to my feet.

She hesitates before asking, "Do you need me to take you anywhere?"

I laugh. "Do you really think you'd be able to take me to any place where I'd have to be? The Manor maybe? Just get going."

She glares at me. "Bye, Malfoy."

She raises her wand and Disapparates with a small pop. As soon as she's gone, I fall back onto the couch and stare into the flames.

Suddenly a face appears in the fireplace, and I hear a familiar voice.

"Draco? How come I can't come through?"

Fucking Theo. Terrible timing, as always.

"I'm at my place."

"No wonder I can't see a bloody thing. You look like you're sitting on air."

"What do you want?" I growl.

"You're not in a very good mood, are you? Your aunt Bellatrix was looking for you. She was pissed when I said I hadn't seen you since two days ago. Where'd you go?"

"Don't ask."

"But she wants to know. She's—"

"Don't push it, Theo. I'll be home to talk to my aunt in a few minutes."

"I just wanted to know where you were off to."

"I don't have to report to you."

"Yeah, I know. I just thought—"

I shoot him a glare, and he abruptly stops talking. "I'll talk to you tomorrow," I say.

"Sure. Bye, Draco."

I nod. As soon as his face disappears from the flames, I can relax again. Even though I know that no one can enter or even _see_ inside this room, I still feel uneasy when faces appear in the fire.

I summon a small basin from the bathroom and place it on the coffee table in front of me. Shutting my eyes, I concentrate hard.

"Aguamenti."

The basin fills with water, and I open my eyes again. Wandless magic is getting easier and easier for me. I touch the tip of my index finger to the water.

Her image appears on the surface of the water as the ripples fade. She's speaking to Weasley and Potter. They say something that worries her, and she rushes toward the staircase of Order headquarters. I watch as the two boys scramble up the stairs behind her. They enter a room on the second floor, and I see Blaise lying on a bed, unconscious.

Concerned, I lean closer to the water. What's wrong with him? Apparently Granger's concerned too. I wish I could have captured sound as well with this charm, but I haven't learned how to do that.

Sighing, I Vanish the water with a wave of my hand and lean back on the couch. I really should be heading back to the Manor. If Aunt Bella went to Theo, she must have been really desperate to find me.

Remembering that I left my mask and new cloak at my godfather's home, I sigh heavily. It'll take some effort to retrieve them and return to the Manor.

* * *

I sit down on the bed in my room at the Manor, exhausted. My head's still throbbing.

Aunt Bella was furious that she couldn't find me tonight. Apparently, the Dark Lord was looking for me, and when she couldn't get in contact with me, he had punished her. So when she saw me, she didn't even bother asking where I'd been, instead diving right into my mind. I had had to thrust several inconsequential memories in her path to distract her as I hurriedly secured my walls.

I'd never had much to hide from Aunt Bella in the past—my only real secrets were my secret opinions of Granger. Since the night I rescued her, Granger has invaded my thoughts more and more often, and I've had to stow away more and more thoughts. No one can know what I think about her. I already can't quite come to terms with what I'm feeling myself. No one else would be able to even _begin_ to understand.

This time, I had to hide a relatively large amount of information—Blaise unexpectedly turning up at Godric's Hollow, my meeting with Potter and Weasley at Spinner's End, the conversations that took place tonight at the headquarters of the Order. This is more than I've ever had to hide from Aunt Bella, and she gave me no time to prepare. I'm still stunned that I was able to hide it all.

That didn't mean she left me alone, though.

When she didn't discover anything out of the ordinary, she lost her temper and attacked my mind. I thought my skull was going to split in half. This wasn't an attempt to get behind the walls that I'd put up—at this point, I've become skilled at concealing the walls from her. No, she was just trying to hurt me however she could. Punishing me as she saw fit, I suppose, since she was punished by Voldemort for being unable to find me.

I can't even remember the last time she hurt me intentionally. Voldemort must have been _very_ furious with her.

I pick my wand up from the nightstand and point it at the door, locking it. Although I _can_ perform wandless magic, it's tiring, and I'm already drained from tonight. I rub my forehead tiredly and yawn. The sun's just beginning to rise, and I want to take a nap.

I pull the serpent charm out and look at it.

Hopefully Blaise is all right. Granger looked very worried about him.

Jealousy stirs in my chest again, but I smother it quickly. Emotions like these can't keep rising to the surface. I have to maintain as much control as possible over myself.

I close my fist around the charm and shut my eyes.


	12. Chapter 12 H

**Chapter 12**

Finally, my feet hit the ground. I feel like I've been in the air for a _year_.

I try to let go of Malfoy, but my hands won't release him. He shifts a little and then clears his throat. I force my hands to separate and dismount, hurrying away from him.

We're standing in a backyard, with a huge variety of plants growing. Odd place… I look around warily, wondering if Death Eaters could be hiding behind some of the larger bushes. My eyes rest on the small house in front of me.

I hear Malfoy's voice.

"Mind lifting the Disillusionment Charm?"

I remember that I'm still invisible and lift the charm on myself before going over to do the same for him.

"We're going to meet here, then?" I ask.

He doesn't answer me, and I start to feel frustrated. _Why_ does he feel that it's acceptable for him to constantly ignore my questions? I watch him pull open the back door of the cottage and disappear inside. I contemplate staying outside out of spite, forcing him to come get me. But that's childish.

With a sigh, I head for the entrance.

I look around as I step inside, taking in the small, sparsely furnished living room that I've entered. The room is lit only by firelight from the fireplace—an unlit brass chandelier hangs from the ceiling. The walls are painted Slytherin green, and a couch, positioned to face the fireplace, is a deep forest green.

My inspection of the room is cut short when Malfoy speaks, "There aren't Death Eaters hidden in the walls."

Annoyed, I turn to him and repeat my question from outside. "Are we going to meet here, Malfoy?"

"Yes, this is where we're going to meet. It'll be safer if you Apparate straight into this room."

After a brief pause, I ask, "Who lives here?"

He shakes his head at me. "No one."

Frowning, I look around the room again, planning to ask how he found a place like this, and how he could be sure that it was safe. "How did you—"

"You should leave," he says, interrupting me. "I have to get going too."

He stands.

I hesitate. He doesn't have a wand. "Do you need me to take you anywhere?"

He laughs at me, and I immediately regret asking.

"Do you really think you'd be able to take me to any place where I'd have to be? The Manor maybe?" he scoffs. "Just get going."

I glare at him. I don't even know why I bothered trying to be nice. He's a haughty prat. Why oh _why_ did the others have to plop him down on _me?_

"Bye, Malfoy."

I lift my wand and Disapparate before he can say anything.

I reappear on the doorstep of Number 12 a moment later and rap on the door.

This time, Ginny is the one who opens the door, and after the same routine questions, I'm allowed to enter the house.

"Harry and Ron wanted to—" she begins, but she's interrupted when Harry and Ron come down the steps and see me.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaims, relief spreading over his face,

The curtains before Mrs. Black's portrait fly open, and she starts screaming again.

"Harry, how could you forget?" Ginny says exasperatedly, trying to pull the curtains back. Harry hurries to help her, looking apologetic.

I shut the door and turn around in time to get a hug from Ron.

"I'm so glad you got back safely," he says.

I disentangle myself from his arms and smile. "He was unarmed, couldn't have hurt me if he wanted to."

Mrs. Black's loud complaints are cut off mid-word, and Harry turns to me.

"Hermione, Blaise just got back. He didn't look very good, but—"

Before he can finish speaking, I dash up the stairs. What could have happened to him? I can hear Harry and Ron clambering up the steps behind me, keeping quiet to avoid waking Mrs. Black again. I move straight into their bedroom and see Blaise lying unconscious on his bed.

"What happened to him?" I ask, leaning over him and touching his forehead.

"We don't know," Harry says, glancing at Ron.

Ginny enters the room and shuts the door behind her.

"He showed up a few minutes ago and just fainted on the doorstep," Ron says. "Harry just took him into the house, without asking him _anything_."

"He was unconscious. What was I supposed to do?" Harry says defensively.

"Did Shacklebolt and the others leave already, then?"

"Yes," Ron says. "Katie's gone to find Lupin and Tonks."

I point my wand at Blaise. "Rennervate."

His eyelids flutter before slowly parting to reveal the gold-flecked brown of his irises. I sit down on the side of his bed so I can get a closer look at him.

"Hermione," he mutters in a hoarse voice that's hardly recognizable.

Hearing his voice, Harry and Ginny move closer.

"Blaise, you're awake. What happened to you? What do you feel—are you hurt?" I ask.

He smiles weakly and shakes his head minutely. Then his eyes close again.

"Blaise, no—stay with me," I say.

I take a deep breath and try to think of any healing spells I might know. But most of them are for visible wounds, and as far as I can see, there's nothing wrong with him.

"Boys, help me take his shirt off."

"What?" Ron says, flabbergasted.

"I want to see if there are any marks on him," I explain.

Then I realize that I don't have to remove the shirt manually and flick my wand to Vanish it. His chest and arms are unblemished, and I can't understand what's happened to him. His breathing seems to be getting shallower, and I glance back at Harry and Ginny.

"So he didn't say _anything_ before he fainted?" I ask.

I turn back before they can answer and shake his shoulders, wondering if I can get him to say just a word, anything that'll hint to me what happened to him.

"Maybe he's not saying anything because he _can't_," Harry says.

An idea occurs to me. I conjure a small knife and nick his shoulder lightly, just deep enough to draw blood.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" Harry asks, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

Sure enough, the blood that oozes out is a dark brown color.

"He's been poisoned," I inform them. "It was a Bloodroot Potion—we can cure it with the Antidote for Uncommon Poisons. I'm sure we have some downstairs…"

Harry leaves without another word to get the antidote, and Ginny follows him out.

"What exactly does Bloodroot Poison do to people?" Ron asks.

"It's called Bloodroot Potion, not Poison—that's a common mistake. If brewed correctly, it rots their insides," I say, looking at Blaise. "The Antidote should be able to restore everything to normal, if it hasn't been too long."

"Why wouldn't he be able to speak?"

"The um… the potion works through vocal chords pretty quickly. Since he was able to say my name earlier, he must not have drunk it too long ago."

Oh, he must be in so much pain. I murmur a charm that's supposed to numb pain. I don't know how much help it'll be for internal injuries, but I hope it'll do _something_ for him. He opens his eyes a crack, and I lean closer.

"Blaise, we know what's wrong now. You'll be fine, I promise," I say.

Another weak smile, and his eyes close again.

Then Harry and Ginny return with a small vial. I take it from them and turn to Blaise.

"Conjure a bucket. He'll have to throw up the poison that he drank," I say without looking at them.

I remove the stopper and pull on Blaise's jaw, forcing his mouth open. I pour all the contents of the vial into his mouth—I don't know how much of the poison he drank.

The reaction is almost instantaneous. He jerks upward, and his torso twists so that he can throw up over the side of the bed. Harry places the bucket next to his bed just in time. The liquid that comes out of his mouth has a violet hue, as I'd expected.

When he's done, I gently push him back onto the bed, resting his head on the pillow.

"Do you feel any better?" I ask.

He looks at me and gives me yet another weak smile.

"Is that really all you're capable of?" I ask him, smiling back.

He shakes his head again and closes his eyes. A moment later, his breathing deepens, an indication that he's fallen asleep. I let the feeling of relief wash over me. Thank goodness.

"So… he'll be all right?" Ginny asks.

"Yes," I reply.

She sighs, relieved, and sits down on Harry's bed.

"Hermione?" Ron says quietly from behind me.

I nod to acknowledge that I've heard him, but I don't turn to face him.

"Can I talk to you alone for a minute?"

I'm loath to part with Blaise right now—for some reason, I want to be there when he wakes up. But I suppose I can spare some time to talk to Ron, see what he wants from me.

"It's okay, Hermione," Harry says, patting my shoulder. "Ginny and I will be watching over him. He'll be right here when you get back."

I get to my feet, take another look at Blaise's face, and then turn to follow Ron out of the room. We cross the hall into my room, and I sit down on the bed.

"What did you want to talk about?" I ask.

He shifts his feet awkwardly. "I know that I've been a bit of an arse about… well, about everything. But I just… sometimes I wish things didn't end the way they did between us," he says.

Oh, for goodness' sake. It's been over two years since we broke up. I don't even know what to say to that. I've been over him since I got back from Rome with Harry and Blaise.

When I don't reply, he continues, "But erm, I know that you haven't felt the same way in… in a long time."

At least he knows.

"I've been pretty bitter toward Zabini ever since you and Harry brought him back. I… it's just that I felt… replaced. Harry chose to go with you instead of staying with me, and when you two brought back a third person with you—"

"Oh Ron, why is this still bothering you, after all this time? Why couldn't you talk about it before?"

"Just let me get it out, all right?"

I sigh. "Go ahead."

"The reason why I'm bringing it up now is… it's because I just want to tell you that I'm going to try to be better about that. I still don't like Zabini, but… well, he's friends with you and Harry now, and I guess I just want to say that I'm going to try my best to get along with him."

"That's good to hear," I say.

He walks over to me and picks up my right hand in both of his, gently running his thumbs over the back of it. It's something he used to do when we were together, and I slowly pull my hand away.

"You know, I… I still feel like we were meant to be together," he says.

Um, _what?_ "I thought you agreed with me that it was time—" I begin to say.

"No, no. I only said that because I could tell that you didn't feel the same anymore. I thought that maybe if you spent some time away from me, you would eventually remember all the good things, and you'd rediscover your feelings for me."

"Ron, I can't—"

"I've never stopped loving you, Hermione."

I shake my head at him. "Ron, I don't feel—"

"I know, I know," he says. "I'm just… I'm sure that it'll work out eventually."

"Please don't think that way, Ron. We already had a chance, and it didn't work out. We can be friends, but nothing more," I say. I feel bad for trying to crush his hope, but he won't be able to move on if he can't accept that we're really over.

He smiles. "It's all right, Hermione. I just wanted to say that I'll try to change, for you."

I don't _want_ him to change for _me_. I want him to change for himself, for everyone else, for anyone but me. Why doesn't he see that there isn't anything left between us?

But this is taking up so much time, and I want to stay at Blaise's side.

"Thank you, then," I say quietly. "But honestly, you already know that I've moved on."

"I know."

He exits the room without another word, and I wonder if I've hurt him too much. But he should have been over this long ago. I hear his footsteps going up the stairs, and I wonder who he's going to talk to. I doubt the twins would be much help to him—they only ever tease him. Maybe he just wants to be alone.

I exit my room and cross the hall, entering the boys' room.

"He hasn't woken up yet," Harry reports.

He's sitting next to Ginny on his bed.

"Thanks," I say. "You two don't have to stay here, if you don't want to. I'll call you if I need anything."

"Oh, Lupin came over. Tonks wasn't home—left as soon as she got home to get in touch with Mundungus. I told him about Blaise, and he took a look at him," Harry says.

"Where is he now?"

"He went to the kitchen to make some more Antidote," Ginny replies.

"All right, then. So he didn't see anything wrong with Blaise?" I ask.

"No, he said Blaise is going to be fine," Harry says, smiling at me.

He gets to his feet and takes Ginny's hand to lead her out of the room. He looks between me and Blaise before exiting the room. The door swings closed, and I hear the lock click into place—Harry must have locked it from the outside.

I sit down on the side of Blaise's bed and reach out to cup his cheek with my hand. His skin is very warm and smooth. His breaths are slow and even.

Lupin thinks he'll be fine… that's good enough for me.

Then I feel a burning sensation on my chest and jump, surprised. Damn, it's that charm.

I turn away from Blaise and pull it out from beneath my shirt to look at it, holding it by the chain so that I won't be burned again. The time and date that had been etched there before slowly disappear before my eyes.

When nothing new appears, I frown and turn the charm around. On the opposite side, two capital letters have appeared in elegant, curvy script.

_HG_

My initials.

What the hell is Malfoy up to?


	13. Chapter 13 H

**Author's Note:** In case you're worrying, this is definitely a Dramione fic all the way, so anything that happens between Blaise and Hermione can't really last. Not sure if that really needed saying, but there you go.

Read and review! :)

**Chapter 13**

I sit down on the edge of Blaise's bed.

Harry's gone into my room to have some time alone with Ginny. It's not hard to guess what they're doing in there. Charlie showed up early in the morning and took Ron away to Shell Cottage because Mrs. Weasley wanted to see him. At least, that's what Harry told me—by the time I woke up this morning, Ron was gone already.

According to the boys, Blaise didn't wake up at any point last night. I know that it'll take some time for his body to heal, but it still worries me that he hasn't regained consciousness. I'm itching to use Rennervate on him, but it's healthier to let him wake up naturally.

I had the boys help me put him under the covers last night before leaving to go to bed. His right hand—his wand hand—rests above the blanket, on his chest. I pick it up gently and pull it into my lap. The smooth, dark skin is broken by a few thin scars. This hand has saved my life several times in the past two years.

I look at his face and wish he would open his eyes. It hasn't really been long since I gave him the Antidote, so it's not strange that he hasn't woken yet. But I still can't help wishing…

I look back down at his hand and clasp it between both of mine. His big hands are always so warm.

"Love you too."

At the sound of his voice, my eyes fly to his face and see that his gaze is fixed on our hands.

"Did I wake you?" I ask, choosing to ignore his statement.

He smiles. "Yeah. Thanks for keeping my hand warm."

I shake my head and start to release his hand, but it tightens around mine.

"But no, seriously," he says. "Thanks. For saving my life."

"I owe it to you," I reply with a small smile.

Our eyes meet for a moment, and I can't look away.

He grins. "Keep staring at me like that, and I'll start thinking you _really_ have a crush on me."

I laugh at him and look down at our hands. He's still holding my hand, just tightly enough so that I can't brush him off.

"You were supposed to be tracking the movements of Death Eaters in Liverpool, weren't you?" I ask. "How did you get poisoned?"

He sighs, amusement fading from his face. "Yeah, about that… I was stupid."

"What happened?"

"I sat down with a man—well, let me start over. I saw a man surrounded by a group of wizards, so I helped him out and Stunned his attackers. He offered to buy me a drink, so I went with him. He was a local. I figured I could ask him if anything strange had been happening lately."

He shakes his head and closes his eyes.

"He was the one who poisoned you, then?" I ask him.

"Yeah, he was," he replies. "I think he slipped the poison into my drink when I wasn't paying attention. I didn't notice that I'd been poisoned until my voice got croaky and my stomach and chest started burning."

"I'm glad you got out of there," I say.

"Yeah, me too."

I smile. "Looks like the Great Zabini is slipping," I tease him.

"Hey, hey. Even the greatest people have to make mistakes occasionally. We're still human, after all."

I roll my eyes at him. "Yes, of _course_."

"So, where are Harry and Ginny? And Weasley?"

"Charlie came in the morning to take Ron to Shell Cottage," I say. "The other two went across the hall."

"To snog?"

I laugh. "Probably, yes."

He grins. "What do you say we get to a little snogging ourselves?"

I shake my head. "Blaise, you're incorrigible."

"I'm not kidding," he says, that same grin still spread across his face. "You have very, very tempting lips, Hermione."

I flush crimson and turn my head away, self-consciously licking my lips. He squeezes my hand and tugs lightly in an attempt to get me to turn back to him, but I don't change position.

"Aw come on, Hermione. You don't still have feelings for that spotted redhead, do you?"

"No, of course I don't," I say, turning back to face him. I'm very aware that my cheeks are still a few shades redder than usual. "But that doesn't mean I'm interested in you."

"Are you trying to say that you're _not_ interested in me, then?"

My tongue appears to have tied itself in a knot, and I resort to nodding.

He pulls his hand back and lifts himself up slowly on his elbows, keeping his eyes on mine. Then he lets his eyes drop to my lips, and I notice that his tongue has darted out to moisten his own lips.

"Blaise, stop teasing me," I say.

He smiles sincerely.

"I'm not," he whispers.

He slowly moves closer an inch at a time, eyes studying my face to gauge my reaction.

Am I really going to let him kiss me?

"No—stop!"

That voice… Ron?

Blaise turns his head to his right, in the direction of the outburst, and I feel some disappointment welling up in my chest. I'm… disappointed… that he didn't kiss me. I take a deep breath and turn my head to the left in time to see Ron emerge from beneath Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

"Excellent timing you have, Weasel," Blaise says, shaking his head.

"Ron… what are you doing in here? Aren't you supposed to be at Shell Cottage?" I ask.

His face is red as a tomato. "You—you were going to let him kiss you."

"You didn't answer the lady's question," Blaise says, lying back down.

"It's okay, Blaise," I say. Then I say to Ron, "So what if I was? I thought you said that—"

"I said I'd try to be friends, not that I approved of him _kissing_ you!"

"Oh, so now I need your _approval_ before kissing someone?" I say.

Anger rises in my chest. Ron opens his mouth to protest, but I point my wand at him. Before he has time to react, I Disarm and then Silence him. He fixes his eyes on me furiously.

"Do you think that being my ex gives you some sort of power over me? I'm allowed to kiss whomever I want. You can't just tell me that I can't kiss someone because _you_ don't want me to. By now, you should know better than to try to control me."

"It's all right, Hermione," Blaise says, sitting up again. He reaches out and tries to get me to lower my wand arm.

"No, it's not all right," I say, glaring at Ron.

Doesn't he know that one of the reasons that we broke up in the first place was because I couldn't stand the way he tried to control every aspect of my life? He never wanted me to go on missions unless he came too. He was overly jealous of Ginny and Harry even—he used to be bitter when I chose to talk to them instead of him.

He's glaring back at me, and I can't understand why he still thinks he's in the right.

"Hermione—" begins Blaise.

I twist around to face him, grab two fistfuls of his shirt, and tug him closer to me. A split second later, I plant my lips on his, kissing him furiously. He remains completely motionless, no doubt shocked by my actions. But I don't care. I want more than anything to show Ron that I am _not his_.

I back up a tiny bit and flick his upper lip with my tongue. Seemingly coming to his senses, Blaise leans forward, returning the kiss with fervor. When his tongue slips into my mouth, I massage it with mine, earning a quiet groan from him.

Then a hand grips my shoulder tightly and tugs me backwards, breaking our kiss.

"Hermione, what the _fuck_ are you doing?" Ron shouts, livid.

I realize that he'd taken his wand back from me while I was distracted.

"If you couldn't tell, I was kissing Blaise," I reply calmly.

"So that's how it is, is it?" he says, fuming. "You know what, fuck you. Fuck _both_ of you."

"Get out," I say, pointing at the door.

"Fine. You'll regret this."

"Get out," I repeat.

Ron exits the room and slams the door behind him. I hear muffled screams coming from outside—the noise must have been enough to wake up Mrs. Black.

I turn to look at Blaise and see that he's leaning back on his elbows, looking up at me.

"Blaise, I—"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Yeah, I know. You didn't mean anything by it. You were trying to prove a point. I shouldn't make too much out of it."

I can't help but smile at him. "You've been around me for too long, haven't you?"

"Not too long, just long enough," he replies. He yawns widely.

"You should go back to sleep," I say. "Your body needs it in order to recover fully."

"Yeah, all right. I'll go back to sleep. You should probably go talk to Weasley, though. I don't wanna get attacked in my sleep."

I sigh. "I'll ask Harry to talk to him for me. I'm too angry with him to speak to him right now."

"Whatever works."

"I'll be back later, then."

Blaise nods.

I stand up and head for the door. Before I can pull the door open, he speaks.

"Hermione?"

I pause and look back at him.

"You're a good kisser," he says, grinning impishly.

"Shut up, Blaise," I say before hurrying out the door and pulling it shut behind me.

It's silent in the house—Mrs. Black must have been subdued already. Then I hear voices from downstairs and head toward them.

"Oh hello, Hermione," Seamus says, grinning.

"Seamus, hi," I say with a smile. "When did you get here?"

"He came a few hours ago," Lee says.

"That's right. I was just stopping by for this," Seamus says. He holds up a small flask.

"What is that?" I ask.

"Something for my mission. I'll be back here in two days—if not, then something's gone wrong, and you guys should probably send someone out looking for me," he says.

"Where will you be, again?" Lee asks.

"Hellifield. It's a town in North Yorkshire," Seamus replies.

"Got it," Lee says. "I'll let the twins know."

"Lupin knows too, so if you forget…"

"We won't forget," I say. "But I'm sure you'll be fine. Take care of yourself, Seamus."

He nods and pulls open the front door. "Wish me luck."

With that, he leaves.

"Wonder what his mission is," Lee says.

Then there's an explosion from upstairs, and my head jerks in the direction of the stairs.

Lee laughs at my worried expression. "Don't worry, Hermione. Just something me and the twins were working on. I'll be seeing you."

He heads up the stairs, and I decide that it's time to speak to Harry about what happened with Ron. Where _is_ Ron, anyway? I glance in the direction of the kitchen just in time to see him glaring at me from a crack in the doorway. When he sees that I've spotted him, he closes the door the rest of the way.

Sighing, I start going upstairs. Harry will definitely be more capable of talking some sense into that twit.


	14. Chapter 14 D

**Chapter 14**

I bow my head and kneel respectfully.

"Where were you last night?" Voldemort asks.

"I was given a night off patrols," I say. "I spent most of the night in a bar."

"I suppose I cannot fault you. Stand," he says. "Bellatrix, you are dismissed."

As I get to my feet, Aunt Bella leaves the study and shuts the door behind her, leaving me alone with the Dark Lord. It's been about two hours since I arrived at the Manor, and Voldemort is here now, most likely to have the conversation that he'd intended to have with me last night.

"It's been a long time since I spoke to you directly. I doubted that the dagger could be found, but I knew I was right to trust you with it."

I keep my eyes on the ground. "I live to serve you, My Lord."

"How have your skills improved?"

"I went from the Manor to Snape's old home in Spinner's End."

He gives me a rare smile.

"Good. I have a new trick for you, but you must complete two errands for me. First you are to deliver this dagger—" with a wave of his hand, the dagger that I brought back from the old Potter home floats over to me "—to Macnair's home. Then, tomorrow night, you will go to a village in North Yorkshire called Hellifield. You will await the arrival of Seamus Finnegan. I trust you remember him from school?"

I nod. Then I realize that the dagger is still floating about a foot in front of me, and I reach out to take it.

"I want you to bring me his head."

Without a moment's hesitation, I drop to one knee. "Yes, My Lord."

I've learned that a prompt response is absolutely crucial when it comes to gaining his trust. Hesitation earned me doubtful looks and derisive comments from him in the past, but after the first year, I became numb to surprise at his requests. I suppose I'm "prepared" for anything.

"Good. I will return the morning following your meeting with Finnegan. I expect you to be here when I arrive."

"Yes, My Lord," I repeat.

"You are dismissed."

I get to my feet and exit the room silently. Aunt Bella is standing just outside, waiting. When I appear, she looks me up and down, and she seems disappointed. I expect her to say something to me, but she enters the study and shuts the door again.

Strange.

I head down the hall, planning to go to my room.

"Draco!"

I hold back a sigh and turn to face my father.

"What did the Dark Lord say to you?" he asks.

"I have a new mission," I reply, stowing the dagger into my robes.

He looks at me angrily and storms away. I know that he meant to ask me whether or not Voldemort mentioned him to me. According to my mother, Voldemort hasn't given my father any missions for the past few weeks, which means he isn't giving my father a chance to redeem himself.

Well… I suppose it's a shame for him. Sometimes I wish I had fallen out of favor as well. But of course, I would constantly have to worry about staying alive. It's not surprising that he's angry.

When I reach my room, I shut the door and take a moment to sit down and think.

This kill seems to be unavoidable. There's no way that I can bring a fake head to Voldemort and have him believe that it's the real thing. Upon death, living things generally return to their natural form, so Polyjuice Potion and Human Transfiguration are out of the question.

I wonder how Voldemort knows that Finnegan will be in Hellifield tomorrow night. I consider contacting Granger. If she can convince Finnegan not to go, then his life could be spared. But if I don't have his head when Voldemort returns to the Manor in two days, he won't be very forgiving.

He'll just have to go.

Having made up my mind, I decide to go to Macnair's home to drop off the dagger. It's best to get these "errands" done as quickly as possible.

I pull out my wand and Disapparate.

I arrive in front of a large, dingy apartment complex in London. Visible only to those who know of its existence, Macnair's building is squeezed between two Muggle apartment buildings. I enter the building and step into the lift. I've been here several times before, but usually I come to retrieve things rather than to deliver them.

At the top floor, I get out of the lift and rap on Macnair's door. It's thrown open a moment later, and Macnair appears.

"Ah, Malfoy Jr. I was told to expect you," he says, backing into his room and gesturing for me to enter.

"I won't be staying long. I just have something to give you."

"Come in," he insists.

I can't stand this man.

When I was last in his company, he told me how much he enjoyed the rush of the kill. He described to me in great detail one of his favorite kills. He'd captured a Muggle woman and decided to kill her slowly, without using magic. The thought of it still makes me sick.

Reluctantly, I enter his apartment, and he closes the door behind me.

"So, what do you have for me?" Macnair asks.

I take out the dagger and hold it out to him.

"Pretty, that is," he says, taking it with a smile.

He places the dagger on a table and turns around to face me.

"I'll be heading off," I tell him.

"Where do you have to be?" he asks.

"I have some business."

"Now, now, you're making me think that you don't want to be here."

"And _you_ are making _me_ think that you want me to be late for a meeting," I reply.

He looks at me doubtfully. "You just came from a meeting with the Dark Lord, didn't you?"

"He is not the only person I have to meet with," I say.

"Very well, then," Macnair says. "Good luck tomorrow night, Malfoy Jr."

I give him a confident smile and pull open the door.

"Don't know what you're talking about. I don't need luck."

* * *

Loud beats, flashing lights. The floor seems to be vibrating with the motions of all the dancers. I don't even know what I'm doing here right now. Clubs seem to be the only places that aren't feeling the negative effects of the war. People come here to escape the constant fear.

At first, I did the same. But lately, it doesn't really work for me. I can't stop thinking about what's going on outside the club—pain, destruction, death. Tonight, I'm contemplating the next murder I'll be committing, the next murder that I won't be able to stop.

"Draco, why do you look unhappy?" Greg asks.

I sigh and down the rest of my bottle of Firewhiskey. Glancing at him, I observe that he's not kidding. Of course he's not kidding. He's not the brightest. But Theo answers him for me.

"Why do you _think_ he's unhappy? Why are we _all_ unhappy?"

"He's in a worse mood than usual," Vince observes, coming to Greg's defense. They're always trying to help each other out.

"I'm fine," I say. I lift a hand to get the bartender's attention and ask, "Any new kills?"

Vince and Greg look at each other, grinning stupidly.

"Looks like they got a few," Theo says. "I've been stuck on patrol duty for a while. But I'm not complaining."

"Where are you patrolling? Not Hogwarts—I didn't see you there."

"No, not Hogwarts. And I'm glad of it. I don't think I'd want to go to Hogwarts to patrol."

I pop the cork off a new bottle of Firewhiskey and nod in the direction of the bartender, thanking him. "I hate walking around the halls and seeing no one. Sure, there used to be Mudbloods crawling all over the school, but it was alive. Dumbledore was a good headmaster."

Theo nods. "Yeah, I've gotta admit it, he was good."

"We killed eight people," Greg says.

"Took them that long to figure it out," I say, shaking my head.

"Let's pick up some girls and go," Theo says. "We can leave these two buffoons to themselves."

I shake my head.

"Oh, come on. There's a blonde girl over there giving you the eyes," he says, jerking his head to the left.

I don't even look. "I'll take this last drink home. I'm outta here."

Before he can stop me, I head for the exit. Someone grabs my arm when I've almost reached freedom, and I glance back to see Astoria Greengrass. I shake her hand off my arm.

"Draco, hello," she says in her high-pitched voice, smiling sweetly.

"Astoria," I say, nodding to acknowledge her.

"I haven't seen you in such a long time," she says. "Where have you been? Why haven't you owled?"

"I have to go. I'm running late," I lie.

She reaches out for my arm again, but I hurry out of her reach and leave the club, Disapparating as soon as I'm outside. I never should have gone to the club tonight—it hasn't helped me the past few times, so I don't know why I half-expected it to help this time.

I collapse onto the couch in my safe haven and stare at the glowing embers in the fireplace. I lift the bottle to my lips to take another long draught. The liquid burns its way down my throat, and I glare at the lumps of coal. With a thought, a fire blazes to life. I wonder what it'd feel like to step inside and burn. I've watched someone burn alive before… looked pretty fucking painful.

I could use some pain.

Sighing, I chuck the bottle and the rest of its contents into the fireplace.

I pull out my serpent charm and seriously contemplate telling Granger that she should come here now. I want to see her round, brown eyes, touch that tiny scar on her cheek, hear her lyrical voice, taste her plump, kissable lips…

I groan and rub my forehead.

Maybe I should have done what Theo had suggested—grabbed some willing witch and brought her back to the Manor for some stress relief.

But I already know that it wouldn't have done any good. Ever since I saw Granger in the Forbidden Forest, all the girls I've fucked have had _her_ face, screamed my name in _her_ voice. If I'd brought back another girl tonight, it would have been the same thing all over again. And I can't keep this up.

I pick up my wand and point it at the empty basin that's still sitting on the coffee table.

"Aguamenti."

The basin refills, and I lean forward, looking at my reflection in the clear water. Concentrating on her, I place the tip of my index finger on the water, watching the tiny ripples move toward the edges of the basin.

She's lying in bed, asleep. Ginny Weasley's lying one bed over, also breathing deeply. Since she's asleep, it means Blaise is probably all right. As he crosses my mind, I absentmindedly run a hand along the scar that he gave me.

It had been a bitter fight. I'd felt that he betrayed me. He'd said that I turned on him. It would be all too easy for me to finish him off now, with all the tricks that I've picked up from the Dark Lord. But that fight had been three years ago, and we were evenly matched.

I still remember the way that blood had sprayed from the wound on his back, can still hear his screams of pain. I remember feeling no remorse and wishing that I could end him right there. But when he turned around to face me, I saw pain and desperation in his eyes, and the words stayed on the tip of my tongue. I couldn't do it.

I remember the ripping sensation as his spell cleaved its way down my chest, remember toppling back onto the ground, firing a pathetic Disarming Charm as I went down.

Theo had appeared and looked between the two of us worriedly. He knew that I was a Death Eater, but still he hesitated, torn between which of us he wanted to save. I remember screaming at him, telling him to kill Blaise, to kill the boy who had betrayed my trust. I remember the terrified look on his face as he shook his head at me and Disapparated with Blaise.

I was dizzy with blood loss at that point, and I didn't have the strength left even to lift my wand. Aunt Bella found me a moment later and immediately took me to the Manor, where they worked feverishly to heal me.

It's been a long time since I last thought back to that fight. I've tried to repress the memory, to avoid ever thinking about it. This war lost me my best friend.

I look back down at the water and watch as Granger shifts in her sleep, tugging the covers tighter around her.

Is she cold?

I find myself wishing that she would let me keep her warm. But I already know she never will. In her eyes, I've always hated her. And she's always hated me.

I lost my chance with her the day that my parents convinced me that Muggleborns had dirty blood and were therefore beneath us Purebloods.

I take one last look at her. I have to force myself not to keep watching her like this. I'm already too attached to her—I can't afford to sink any deeper.

She looks so peaceful in sleep, her lips curled into a small smile.

"Sweet dreams, Granger."

On my command, the water Vanishes.

I've never felt more alone.


	15. Chapter 15 D

**Author's Note:** I went to the beach yesterday, and I'm currently painfully sunburned. But it was worth it! I had lots of fun. Not really sure why I felt like sharing that, but I did.

Hope you like the chapter!

**Chapter 15**

A strong gust of wind blows by me, but I don't feel the stinging chill—a Warming Charm on my cloak took care of that for me.

I've been standing on a corner, leaning on a streetlamp. I'm not sure exactly when and where Finnegan will show up, but after spending a day wandering the streets under a Disillusionment Charm, I know that this corner is the most used in the small village.

Then I see Greg walking down the street and frown. He shouldn't be here… and he would _definitely_ never come without Vince.

As he passes by without seeing me—I'm still under the Disillusionment Charm—it hits me. This isn't Greg. He walks with his back too straight. I know Greg's walk, and he almost always hunches his back. And Greg would never walk around in the open without his mask. He may be thick, but he would never disobey orders from the Dark Lord.

I'm willing to bet this imposter is Finnegan.

I scan the surroundings.

Two girls stand across the street, talking. An old couple slowly walks down the sidewalk toward me. Too many witnesses.

I follow "Greg" for several blocks before finally reaching a street that's deserted.

As soon as I'm sure that we won't be seen, I Disarm him from behind.

He spins around, alarmed, and when he sees no one, he runs into a nearby alley and dives behind a dumpster with agility that I'm sure Greg could never exhibit. Smirking, I move toward him, not bothering to be quiet now. He hears my footsteps and looks around wildly.

"Who's there?" he says.

I have to be sure that it's Finnegan before I kill him—I refuse to kill any more people than I absolutely have to.

"Goyle, I never thought I'd be lucky enough to catch you on your own," I say in a low voice. "You killed my family, you did. And now, I'll finally be able to get you back for it."

He repeats his query, looking in my direction. "Who's there?"

"Does it matter? Did you _care_ who you were killing when you killed my family?"

"Who are you?"

I try to remember someone whose family Goyle butchered. "I'm Terry. Terry Boot."

"Why won't you show yourself?"

"Why should I? _You_ didn't show yourself when you cornered my parents and murdered them."

"I—I'm not Goyle, Terry. I'm in the Order."

"Oh right, and I'm actually a Death Eater, come to scare you," I say.

"I'm using Polyjuice Potion. Terry, don't kill me. Just come with me. In less than a minute, the disguise is going to fade off. I have to get out of here."

"I can wait a minute. Who are you really, if not Gregory Goyle?"

"I'm Seamus, from Gryffindor. We were in the same year."

"Yes, I know who Seamus is. I'm surprised you remember his name, you thick-skulled gorilla."

"I'm not lying," he says.

As he finishes speaking, his face and body begin to change, and he leans against the wall behind him for support. I watch as his face becomes less plump and most of the fat on his body shrinks away. When he stops changing, the man that I'm looking at is, without a doubt, Seamus Finnegan.

I point my wand at him, and ropes snake out of the end, tying his legs together and binding his arms to his sides. He remains leaning up against the wall.

"Hey—what are you doing?" he says, alarmed.

I lift the Disillusionment Charm on myself and watch his expression change from alarm to horror as he takes in my Death Eater mask and robes.

It's him or me. I have to do this.

"So sorry, Finnegan. I'd help you if I could, but this is, unfortunately, necessary."

Before he can say another word, I point my wand at a point just to the left of his neck and rapidly swing my arm to the right. The cut is so thin that it's barely noticeable at first. Then blood starts to stream out of his neck, and his body topples to the right, his head separating from the rest of his body and landing about a foot away from his neck.

I heave a sigh. So dirty, this killing business. As clean as I tried to make the cut, blood is still all over the ground, flowing freely from the wound. I know it's ridiculous to expect a body not to bleed, but still, I wonder if there's a way to prevent it. Maybe I could invent a spell to Vanish all the blood in someone's body before beheading them.

Why am I thinking about this?

Stepping around the growing pool of blood, I stoop down to look at his head.

His eyes are still wide open, his last emotion still written on his face. I reach out and close his eyes. Then I conjure a waterproof—well, liquid-proof—duffel bag to contain the head. I levitate the head and place it inside the bag before zipping it up.

I look down at his headless body. I have enough time to lay his body to rest before returning to the Manor.

I place the duffel bag in my small green pouch before reaching down and getting a good grip on Finnegan's still-warm arm. I lift my wand and Disapparate.

* * *

Sitting down in the couch at my cottage, I glance up at the light fixture that I hardly ever bother to light. With a wave of my wand, the candles flicker to life, and the room lights up.

I had already Apparated to the middle of some unnamed woods and was planning to bury Finnegan's body when I realized that members of the Order would probably come looking for him after he went missing. But I figured they might just chalk him up as missing or captured, and since I'd Apparated so far already with his body, I might as well bury him.

After the burial, I came straight here. I'll have to meet the Dark Lord tomorrow morning, and he'll have some new _trick_ to teach me. Isn't that just bloody fantastic?

I look at the empty basin in front of me and shake my head. There'll be no more of watching Granger sleep. I can't let that become a habit.

I pull the serpent charm out from beneath my shirt and look at it for a long minute.

So, so tempting.

Oh, what the hell. I might as well summon her if I'm going to waste so much time staring at it. Maybe some lives will be saved in the process. I fist my hand around the charm and close my eyes, focusing on the word, "now".

Then I release the charm and conjure a piece of parchment. I place the tip of my wand against it and concentrate on the map that Aunt Bella had shown me earlier in the day. She didn't keep it in my sight for long, but just a glimpse was enough for me to commit it to memory. The black lines materialize on the parchment, complete with different-colored annotations from Aunt Bella and her faithful new group of trainees.

"Malfoy."

I almost jump at the sound of her voice coming from behind me. I'm rarely caught off-guard, and I'm surprised that I didn't sense her presence in the room. I _really_ have to stay on my toes around her.

"You came more quickly than I expected," I comment.

"The charm said 'now'. I sort of had the feeling that this might be urgent," she says matter-of-factly, walking around to the front of the couch.

I look up and meet her eyes. My response to seeing her is much less intense than it was two nights ago, and I'm relieved to find that my voice and breathing are completely under control.

But now I'm staring at her. Fuck!

Thankfully, her attention is on the piece of parchment on the table in front of me.

"What is this?" she asks.

I wrench my eyes away from her and lift the scrap of paper to give it to her. "It's a map."

"Yes, I can see that. What's it for?"

I smirk. "Impatient, are we? Desperate to return to your dear Ronald? My, my, at this time of night, I wonder what the two of you would be up to."

She shoots me a venomous glare. I seem to have hit a nerve.

"He is _not_ my 'dear Ronald'," she says through gritted teeth.

"Trouble in paradise, Granger?"

She just glowers at me, refusing to reply.

"Not so friendly," I say. "To business it is, then. This map marks the path that a large group of Death Eaters will take tomorrow evening, against a Muggle city called Nottingham. It will be led by my aunt, Bellatrix, and they will be at least twenty strong."

"At least?"

"I don't have the precise numbers of my aunt's forces. You're lucky I got the map at all."

She's looking very closely at the map, as though trying to memorize it.

"You don't have to memorize it, keep it," I tell her.

"I will. I'm memorizing it in case it gets lost," she replies. "Is there anything else?"

She seems to have prepared herself for coming to meet me this time. She's calm and collected, and I can't resist the urge to shake her up.

"Yes, there _is_ just one more thing," I say as I get to my feet.

She's watching me warily, and I wonder if she's expecting me to attack her. I place my wand down on the table and lift both my hands, palms facing her.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Granger. You don't have to be so scared."

"I'm not _scared_," she says, color rising to her cheeks.

She looks so beautiful when she's angry. I can't stop myself from prodding at her.

"Really?" I say, stepping around the coffee table. I stop when I'm standing right in front of her, but she meets my stare readily and doesn't step away from me. "I'd like to bet that you are," I finish.

"And if I'm not?" she challenges.

I consider crossing my fingers behind my back before making my wager. Bugger it, I don't care. Here goes nothing.

"I'll allow you to make one request of me, and I will carry it out without protesting or resisting, as long as it doesn't expose my new relationship to the Order."


	16. Chapter 16 D

**Author's Note:** I know you guys didn't want Seamus to die, but I didn't think there was a way of substituting something for his head that would convince Voldemort (he _is_ the Dark Lord, I think he'd be able to tell a fake head from a real one). I guess the idea was, Draco couldn't save everyone that he'd been assigned to kill.

Anyway, now that that's out of the way, here's another chapter! Hope you like it. I know I did (:

**Chapter 16**

Her eyes widen. She certainly hadn't expected that.

"And I suppose that you'll expect the same from me if I _am_ scared?" she asks.

I grin. "Precisely."

"Done. Now how are you going to decide whether or not I'm scared of you?"

"Well, I could always take the easy way and use Legilimency on you," I say. I smirk and continue, "But that's no fun, is it? You want to have some fun, don't you?"

I take another step, entering her personal space, and she automatically steps back, away from me.

"And you say you're not scared."

"Not scared, cautious," she says.

I laugh lightly. "All right, then. You define what you'll consider as scared, and I'll test whether or not you're scared of me."

She sighs. "I really should be getting back."

"Now _that_ sounds like you're scared."

She glares at me. "I am _not!_ Fine. If you can make me scream, or yelp, or… I don't know, quiver with fear, then you win."

"Sounds fair to me," I say with a devilish grin.

I take the parchment from her and place it on the table behind me. Then I hold out my hand.

"Wand, please. You won't be needing it."

She looks at me carefully but doesn't hand over her wand. Instead, she steps around me to put it down on the table, next to mine. I turn around to face her.

"Well, get started. I don't have all night," she says impatiently.

I grin. I don't intend on scaring her at all. This bet isn't for me to win. It's just a test. And I can't believe how easy it was to goad her into it.

"Close your eyes," I say.

She eyes me distrustfully before closing her eyes. I take a moment to admire her face. Her lashes are long and dark, and they curl upward just slightly. She has dark eyebrows, maybe a shade darker than her russet brown hair. My eyes travel down the curve of her small nose and rest on her lips.

Oh, fuck.

I extend my hands slightly so that they're hovering around her wrists, down at her sides, prepared to grab them if she resists. Then I wait.

Impatiently, she opens her mouth to speak, but before she can get a sound out, I lean down and press my lips to hers, slipping my tongue into her open mouth. She tastes of strawberries and mint.

My doubts fade away. Hell, this is worth dying for.

Her hands start to move—to push me away, no doubt—but my hands wrap around her wrists, holding her arms down at her sides.

I explore her mouth and massage her tongue with mine, trying to elicit a response from her. Her stance is already loosening up, and her arms aren't struggling against my grip anymore. I let my hands slide up her arms to rest on her shoulders, then bring them around behind her, tangling them in her long, bushy hair.

She lets out a shallow breath that flows into my mouth, and then her tongue comes alive, battling for dominance with mine. Fire courses through my veins as she wraps her arms around my neck to pull herself up against me. I don't bother trying to hide my arousal and walk her backwards until she's against the wall beside the fireplace.

When I decide that I need oxygen and start to back away, she takes a step forward, not allowing our lips to separate. I break the kiss, breathing unevenly.

"Fuck," I mutter.

Her eyes are still closed, and her arms are still wrapped around my neck.

"You got that right," she whispers breathlessly.

I start trying to pull my hands out of her hair, but they're hopelessly tangled.

"Ow—ow, stop! That hurts," she says when I try to get my right hand out.

She reaches behind her head and tries to untangle my fingers.

"Maybe you should do something about that ridiculous hair of yours," I say.

I'm lying. I love her hair when it's bushy as hell. It's just so _Granger_.

"I like your mouth better when it's not making any noise," she replies, glaring at me.

Ouch. That stings. "Likewise," I say coolly.

"There," she says.

I realize that my hands are free, and I pull them away from her, backing up a step. Fuck… now that I've tasted her lips, her tongue, her mouth, I can't stop looking at them, longing for another taste.

There's a long pause.

"Well… I'm not scared of you," she finally says.

I smirk. "Are you sure about that? Maybe we should try it again, just to make sure."

She shakes her head. "You lost."

"All right, then. What do you want me to do?" I ask.

"I don't have anything in mind yet. I'll tell you when I think of something," she replies.

She walks around me to pick her wand up off the table. I expect to hear the pop that would signal her Disapparition. When it doesn't come, I turn around to see her watching me, still with that wary expression.

"Did you need something else, Granger?" I ask innocently.

"Malfoy… what was that supposed to mean?" she asks.

"Oh but Granger, I thought you would know. It means that I am deeply and irrevocably in love with you," I say mockingly.

"I can't stand you," she says. "I couldn't back when we were at school, and I still can't now."

My chest clenches painfully at her words, but I hide my reaction.

"That may be true," I reply. Then I take a step forward, lean down towards her, and lower my voice, "but you have to admit you liked kissing me."

"I did not."

I reach down behind her and grab my wand off the coffee table. She tries to back up but finds that the backs of her legs are right against the table. She looks at me piercingly.

"Liar," I whisper.

I brush my lips against hers ever so gently before Disapparating.

I appear in my room at the Manor and sit on the bed. I want more than anything to go back there and finish that last kiss, but the point of it was to leave _her_ wanting more, not _me_. Fuck!

I run a hand through my hair agitatedly and walk into my private bath to take a cold shower. Once inside, I see the sink, and I'm unable to resist checking on her. I fill the sink with water, and a moment later, her image is there. She's still in my cottage, pacing back and forth furiously. Her mouth is moving, and once again, I wish that I could capture sound. She seems to be speaking angrily. Talking to herself? More likely, she's cursing my name.

I like the thought of that. If the only emotions I can stir up in her are anger and hate, I'll take them. Anything to have _some_ sort of effect on her.

But there was something else in that kiss, something decidedly… _other_.

Fuck, I can't think about the kiss.

I can still taste her tongue, can still feel the way her lips pressed urgently against mine once she began to respond. I Vanish the water in the sink and strip out of my clothes.

I really need that shower right now.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I think I might (emphasis on _might_) put up Hermione's perspective later today. It's written out already; I just have to go back and re-edit some things.

Let me know what you think!


	17. Chapter 17 H

**Author's Note:** Well, turns out I was in a posting mood after all, so here is the next chapter!

**Chapter 17**

I turn to lie on my other side and heave a sigh, staring into the dark.

I can't stop thinking about it. I shouldn't have kissed Blaise yesterday. I was just so angry with Ron, and I couldn't help it! He may have been about to kiss me before Ron interrupted us, but I… I was going to push him away, wasn't I? I don't want to get involved with someone like him. He may have changed for the better as far as good and evil goes, but I know that he's not the committing kind.

No, no. I don't want a relationship with him.

I don't want a relationship with him.

Then I sit upright, jolted into motion by a sudden burning on my chest. The charm, damn it. I pull it out from beneath my nightgown and hold it up, using my wand to light it up just enough for me to read it. One side still reads "HG", so I turn it around and see the word, "now".

Frowning, I get out of bed and get dressed quickly. Then I move over to Ginny's bed and shake her gently by the shoulder.

"Ginny, wake up."

She yawns and looks at me. "Oh it's you, Hermione."

"I have to go. Can you open the door for me later?" I ask.

She heaves a sigh. "All right, I'll get the door for you," she replies.

"Thanks, Ginny."

A moment later, I'm walking down the steps and exiting Number 12 through the front door.

Then I appear in the small living room that Malfoy and I agreed on. I'm standing behind the couch, and I see the back of his head. His platinum-blonde hair is always so perfect, isn't it?

I prepare myself. I _won't_ be caught off-guard by him.

"Malfoy," I say.

"You came more quickly than I expected," he says without turning to face me.

I walk around his couch and stand in front of the table. "The charm said 'now'. I sort of had the feeling that this might be urgent," I reply.

He looks me in the eye, and I look back steadily, refusing to lose myself in his gaze. I glance down at the table and see a piece of parchment with elaborate lines and small, scribbled notes. So he has a map for me.

"What is this?" I ask him.

"It's a map," he says, holding it up to me.

I take it from him. "Yes, I can see that. What's it for?"

"Impatient, are we?" he says with a smirk. "Desperate to return to your dear Ronald? My, my, at this time of night, I wonder what the two of you would be up to."

I glare at him, some of the fury from yesterday rising to the surface. I don't even want to be _associated_ with that freckle-faced, overly jealous redhead.

"He is _not_ my 'dear Ronald'," I say angrily.

"Trouble in paradise, Granger?" he taunts me.

I don't answer him.

"Not so friendly. To business it is, then," he says, looking at the parchment in my hands. "This map marks the path that a large group of Death Eaters will take tomorrow evening, against a Muggle city called Nottingham. It will be led by my aunt, Bellatrix, and they will be at least twenty strong."

"At least?" I ask. Can't he be more specific?

"I don't have the precise numbers of my aunt's forces," he replies. "You're lucky I got the map at all."

I study the map carefully, memorizing the paths that have been marked. Twenty Death Eaters… I'll have to get this map to Lupin as soon as possible so that he can round up some members of the Order who are closer to Nottingham.

"You don't have to memorize it, keep it," he says.

"I will. I'm memorizing it in case it gets lost. Is there anything else?" I ask, glancing at him.

"Yes, there _is_ just one more thing," he says, getting to his feet.

He'd better not try anything with me. I'm already on a short fuse, thanks to his comment about Ron. He puts his wand down on the table and lifts up his hands as if in surrender.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Granger. You don't have to be so scared."

What the _hell?_ "I'm not _scared_," I say.

"Really?"

He walks around the coffee table and stops right in front of me. I get the feeling that he expected me to back away, but I won't let him scare me.

"I'd like to bet that you are," he says.

"And if I'm not?"

"I'll allow you to make one request of me, and I will carry it out without protesting or resisting, as long as it doesn't expose my new relationship to the Order."

I can tell that surprise is showing on my face. There is something wrong with Malfoy. Why would he be making a stupid bet like this? Either he doesn't mind giving me some power over him, or he's so arrogant that he's positive he can scare me. Since there's absolutely no way that he'd be all right with letting _me_, a Muggle-born, boss him around, then it must be the second reason.

Well, I'll show him. I'll prove him wrong.

"And I suppose that you'll expect the same from me if I _am_ scared?" I say.

"Precisely," he says with a grin.

I shouldn't take this bet. It's not prudent at all. But it's so tempting, the possibility of having the ability to order Malfoy around, even if it's only once.

"Done. Now, how are you going to decide whether or not I'm scared of you?"

"Well, I could always take the easy way and use Legilimency on you," he says, smirking. "But that's no fun, is it? You want to have some fun, don't you?"

When he steps forward again, I instinctively back away from him and curse myself for not thinking first.

"And you say you're not scared," he says.

"Not scared, cautious," I counter.

He chuckles. "All right, then. You define what you'll consider as scared, and I'll test whether or not you're scared of me."

I sigh. "I really should be getting back."

It's late, and I want to get to sleep.

"Now _that_ sounds like you're scared," he says.

Ugh! I can't _stand_ it when he does that!

I shoot him a glare. "I am _not!_ Fine. If you can make me scream, or yelp, or… I don't know, quiver with fear, then you win."

"Sounds fair to me."

I don't like the smug expression on his face one bit. He takes the map out of my left hand and drops it on the table behind him. He holds his hand out toward me.

"Wand, please. You won't be needing it," he says.

I frown, remembering Blaise's words. I'm not going to let him touch my wand. I step around him and place my wand on the table beside his. I turn around and wait for him. He turns to face me, and I can't tell what his expression means.

"Well, get started," I say. "I don't have all night."

"Close your eyes," he says.

Why? I'm going to laugh if he tries to scare my simply by yelling "boo" while my eyes are closed. But that'd be too undignified for a snobby prick like him. I close my eyes and wait.

And wait.

What the hell is he waiting for?

I open my mouth to voice my question, but suddenly his lips are covering mine, and his tongue invades my mouth. Startled, my eyes pop open, and I get a very, very close look at his closed eyes. His eyelashes are unexpectedly long for a man.

No, what am I thinking?

I start to lift my arms to shove him away from me, afraid of the sensations that are stirring low in my belly, but his hands clamp down around my wrists. I struggle against his grip, but for some reason, I can't move my head away from his, and his tongue continues to stroke and explore my mouth.

Before I know it, I've stopped fighting to free my hands, and his hands are tangled up in my hair.

Stop, Hermione! This is insanity!

But why can't I be insane sometimes? I'm sick and tired of being calm, collected, _bookworm_ Granger! I remember the way Malfoy mentioned Ron, as though we _belong_ together.

So what if this is insane?

I stop fighting for control and allow my instincts to take over. My tongue twists in a slow dance with his, and I reach up to put my arms around his neck. I take a tiny step forward and pull with my arms, pressing myself into him. It feels so perfect, as though our bodies were made to fit together like this.

He walks forward, and I step back with him until my back hits the wall. His body presses against mine, and I can feel his erection against my belly. Liquid heat pulses at my core as I realize that I am the reason why he's so aroused.

Too soon, he starts to pull away.

Oh god Malfoy, not now… I haven't had enough yet.

When he breaks the kiss, both of us are breathing heavily, and I hear him say one word under his breath.

"Fuck."

I haven't even opened my eyes to look at him. Looking at him will end the moment. And I don't want to admit to myself that I was just snogging _Draco Malfoy_ like my life depended on it.

"You got that right," I manage to whisper as I try to catch my breath.

Then he tugs at my hair, and I cry out to get him to stop. He stops moving his hands—they're tangled in my hair. I open my eyes, and the first thing I see is that pair of quicksilver eyes. I immediately drop my gaze away from them, but the next thing my eyes rest on are his lips, slightly swollen from our kissing.

Feeling my cheeks beginning to burn, I reach behind my head to try to untangle his fingers from my hair. I'm thankful for the distraction—my mind is still reeling from that kiss. I have no idea why it happened, why he did it. If he asked me why I responded the way I did, I wouldn't know what to say. I just know that we seem to have crossed a line.

"Maybe you should do something about that ridiculous hair of yours," he says.

I glare at him for a moment before looking back down at his neck. "I like your mouth better when it's not making any noise," I retort.

"Likewise," he says.

Maybe we _haven't_ crossed a line. He's reacting completely normally. _How_ can he pretend that that didn't just happen?

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm curious to hear what you guys think about the different perspectives of the kiss. Which did you like better?

Also, I wanted to include the entire scene in one chapter, but I decided to regroup scenes so that this and the next chapter will be closer to each other in length. So you'll have the rest of Hermione's reaction in the next chapter! I promise I won't keep you waiting long.


	18. Chapter 18 H

**Author's Note:** Aaah! Sadly, summer sessions are starting soon (hey, alliteration!)—the first day of classes, I believe, is June 20th, the coming Monday. Unfortunately, this means that I won't have as much time to write anymore. Luckily for you guys, I've already written up to Ch. 27, so I will still be able to post a few more times, but I won't be updating as often as before. Sorry!

**Chapter 18**

Finally, I undo the knots around his fingers. "There."

He pulls his hands out of my hair and backs up a step.

I can't bring myself to look back up at his face; I'm afraid that I'll lose control if I see his eyes again. I resist the urge to lick my lips. Maybe that would make me seem eager to kiss him again, and I _definitely_ do not want to give him that impression.

He still doesn't say anything, and I feel compelled to break the silence. What can I say? I think back and remember why I was standing in front of him with my eyes closed in the first place.

"Well… I'm not scared of you."

He smirks, and the familiarity of that expression comforts me. I can handle _this_ Malfoy.

"Are you sure about that?" he says. "Maybe we should try it again, just to make sure."

I shake my head. "You lost."

"All right, then," he says readily enough.

I'm surprised that he doesn't argue for another chance to scare me.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks.

"I don't have anything in mind yet. I'll tell you when I think of something," I say.

I walk around him to get to the table. I have to get out of here, before I do another insane thing that I'll regret even more than that kiss. I pick up the map and my wand, but I can't seem to leave just yet. I have to get some sort of explanation from that… that _intolerable_ ferret.

He turns around and sees me watching him. "Did you need something else, Granger?" he asks.

I decide on asking him directly. I'm a straightforward person, and I don't think he's so keen on beating around the bush either.

"Malfoy… what was that supposed to mean?" I ask.

"Oh but Granger, I thought you would know," he says with a grin.

Ugh, I want to wipe that look off his face. A nice, good slap would do.

"It means," he continues, "that I am deeply and irrevocably in love with you."

"I can't stand you. I couldn't back when we were at school, and I still can't now," I say truthfully.

He's still smirking when he replies, "That may be true." He steps closer, leans toward me, and says in an intimate voice, "but you have to admit you liked kissing me."

The nerve!

"I did not," I say through gritted teeth.

He leans farther down to get his wand off the coffee table, and I try unsuccessfully to back away—my calves are already right against the table. I glare at him. He'd better not try anything else with me.

"Liar," he whispers.

Then he's leaning toward me, and I feel his lips press lightly against mine for one dizzying moment before he twists away and vanishes.

Oh, that bloody ferret. The next time he's within reach, I'm going to wring his neck!

My lips are still buzzing from that last bit of contact, and fury threatens to overcome me. I can't believe that I _let_ him kiss me, twice! I suppose the second kiss I couldn't really have prevented, but I definitely didn't fight as hard as I could have on the first one.

Oh _god_, but it was so perfect… I feel that same jolt of warmth surge through me at the mere memory of how his lips and tongue felt and tasted. Malfoy tastes of apples… apples and rich, creamy caramel.

I shake my head, as if to shake the thoughts right out of my brain.

I start to pace back and forth in front of the couch.

"No, girl," I mutter. "You can't lose your head over a kiss. It was just a kiss. He's clearly doing this just to throw you off. You just have to figure out why."

I sit down on the couch.

Why the hell would Malfoy _kiss_ me? Why would he kiss _me?_ Groaning, I let my face fall into my hands. Blaise yesterday, Malfoy today. I'm just such a guy magnet, aren't I? I moan into my hands.

I don't really mind the kiss with Blaise. Besides, he told me earlier today that he understands. And now, in comparison to what just happened between me and Malfoy, that kiss seems completely harmless. I just wish I could use a Time Turner to go back and tell myself not to let Malfoy provoke me into taking up his stupid bet.

After calming down considerably, I Apparate back to Grimmauld Place and knock on the door. The door swings open promptly, but instead of Ginny, Blaise appears in the doorway. After getting the right answers to the required questions, he steps back to let me in.

"What's wrong?" he asks me as he shuts the door.

I head toward the kitchen instead of the stairs. "What makes you think something's wrong?"

He doesn't reply until we're both in the kitchen. As he shuts the door, he says, "Don't lie to me, Hermione. I know you better than that."

I sigh and sit down at the table. Changing the subject, I ask, "What are you doing out of bed?"

"You can't keep the Great Zabini in bed longer than two days. You should know that, Hermione," he says, grinning. "Seriously though, what did Draco tell you?"

His words remind me that there's still something left undone. I place the map on the table in front of him and get up to go to the fireplace. I grab a fistful of Floo Powder and throw it into the fire.

"The Tonks' home," I say.

Then I place my head in the fire and wait. The small living room is empty, and I give a shout for Lupin. A few minutes later, I hear footsteps, and then he enters the room, fully dressed.

"Hermione," he says, seeing my face. "Is there an emergency?"

"I just got some information from Malfoy. Come to Grimmauld Place as soon as possible. Bring Tonks, if you can. There's going to be a Death Eater attack on Nottingham—that's a Muggle city."

Lupin nods. "Notify McGonagall. Shacklebolt left for Eastern Europe last night to contact our allies, so he'll be out of reach for a while. Tonks and I will arrive at Grimmauld Place within two minutes."

"See you soon."

* * *

I sit nervously in the kitchen, waiting. I _hate_ being left here, twiddling my thumbs and feeling absolutely useless while others are out there, fighting.

Lupin led all of the Order members from Grimmauld Place, except me, to meet some more fighters who are staying with Xenophilius Lovegood, who regained the will to fight after losing Luna to the Death Eaters at the Leaky Cauldron.

If Malfoy's map is accurate, they should be battling Death Eaters on the outskirts of Nottingham even now.

I can't stand being unable to help!

Lupin told me that I have to stay safe, at least for now. If Malfoy's information proves to be dependable, I'll become very valuable to the Order. This doesn't make sense to me—if I die, they can always replace me with a different contact. If we should be worried about anybody's life, surely it should be Malfoy's, shouldn't it? But Lupin didn't give me time to argue, and I didn't want to distract him from his work.

A smaller reason for staying here is because we always have to keep someone inside, so that they can let the others in. Before Kreacher died, we could always rely on him to open to door for us and ask the correct questions—it's amazing how much his relationship with us improved after we treated him better. But now, we always have to keep someone back at headquarters.

And Seamus is officially missing.

Earlier today, Fred and George left for a few hours to go looking for him because he hadn't returned this morning, as he said he would. The twins returned without a clue as to where he could be.

For now, we're just hoping that he'll turn up on his own, injured but alive. After the fight at Nottingham, we might send someone out to search again, but to risk lives on almost futile missions is, realistically, a waste of time and energy.

Of course, I hope that Seamus will turn out to be all right, but as always, I don't like to give myself false hope. If he didn't return when he said he would and couldn't be found by the twins either, then there's a large chance that he's been killed or captured already. And really, there's not a large difference between the two fates. The former outcome may even be preferable to the latter.

I hope fervently that the Order members will make it out of this skirmish all right—all of them, even Ron. He apologized to me this morning as soon as he saw me, but I could tell that he only did so because Harry asked him to. I accepted the apology anyway. From Blaise's expression, I knew that he didn't approve, but it really was my choice, not his.

My mind wanders back to last night, and that heat swells in my belly yet again as I recall the feeling of Malfoy's lean, hard body pressing me into the wall.

I haven't told anyone about the kiss. I almost told Blaise this morning, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I don't know how I would explain it. I can't see why Malfoy would ever…

I find myself wondering if he would ever tell anyone that he kissed me. He'd probably avoid it. I'm sure he wouldn't be caught dead kissing a _Mudblood_ like me. But that brings me back to that same question. _Why?_ I make up my mind that I'll ask him the next time I see him, and I won't let him leave without answering me.

Then there's a knock on the door, and I hurry out of the kitchen to open it. Fred's on the doorstep, carrying an unconscious Angelina in his arms. I point my wand at him nevertheless.

"Why did your mother place an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door?"

"Extendable Ears," he grunts.

"Who did you first try the Ton-Tongue Toffee on?" I ask.

"Dursley—Harry's cousin."

"Dudley," I correct him, stepping aside to let him in.

I pull the door shut and follow him quickly into the kitchen, where he sets Angelina down on the kitchen table. I transfigure it into a stretcher and conjure several more while I'm at it before leaning over to look at Angelina.

"What happened to her?" I ask, unable to see any blemishes on her.

"I don't know—some curse from Dolohov," he says worriedly.

"If it's from Dolohov…" my voice fades off.

I've been on the receiving end of that particular curse, but it had been cast nonverbally, and still I took an excruciatingly long time to recover.

But at least I have the combination of potions on hand that will help Angelina. I flick my wand numerous times, Summoning a number of bottles in a variety of shapes and sizes from the potions cabinet. Fred looks at the collection, eyes wide.

"These—she'll drink _all_ of these?" he asks. "How can you know what they are? They're not even labeled."

Then I feel the burn of the charm on my skin and curse aloud.

Fred looks at me, alarmed. "What? What's wrong?"

"It's… nothing," I reply.

I flick my wand once, and the thirteen bottles that were floating in the air arrange themselves in the correct order. I conjure a small table beside Angelina's stretcher and let the vials come to rest on it.

"Give her a drop of each of these potions—only a drop, no more—in this order."

Fred glances up at me. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," I snap at him.

He immediately picks up the first bottle. I turn and take a few steps away from him. I know that he'll be too distracted with helping Angelina to pay any attention to me, but I still glance back quickly just to make sure.

Then I pull the charm out and see that the word "now" has materialized yet again. I tuck the charm back into my shirt and sigh, frustrated.

"What is it?" Fred asks.

He's holding the third bottle over Angelina's mouth, which has been charmed to stay open.

"Malfoy. He wants to see me now."

"_Now?_ What could he want with you now?"

"I have to go," I say. "If he has information…"

He nods. "I'll watch the door, don't worry."

"How is it out there?" I ask as I head for the kitchen door.

He grimaces. "We're doing all right. No one's dead yet, at least," he finishes with a small smile.

He hasn't looked at me during our conversation, concentrating on making sure Angelina gets only one drop of each potion.

"That's always a plus," I say before leaving the room.

Damn Malfoy. What does he want now?


	19. Chapter 19 D

**Author's Note:** I think I'll post the next chapter today as well… because this chapter was short, and the next one is just Hermione's perspective. It'll probably be at night though, because I'll be out all the rest of today.

**Chapter 19**

I sit down on my couch and rub my temples. My head aches from Voldemort's examination. He was extremely thorough this morning when I presented him with Finnegan's head.

But I succeeded in hiding everything that I wanted to, and that's all that matters.

He taught me a new trick this morning. I'll probably be told to use it on prisoners in a day or two. Oh, won't that be so very fun? I summon an herb from the garden and hold it beneath my nose. Naree told me that it's supposed to help with headaches.

Fuck that, it's not doing anything for me.

I know I should be more patient, but I toss the herb on the table in front of me and heave a sigh.

Granger had better not be caught up in the fight at Nottingham. Knowing her, she'd refuse to be left alone at headquarters. She's not exactly heroic, but she won't sit aside and let others do all the work. It's an admirable quality, but when it means she's putting her life in danger, it irks me to no end.

I ball my hands into fists. Why the hell do I care so much?

I pull the charm out from beneath my shirt. If I want her out of the way _that_ badly, I should just ask her to come here, distract her with some bit of information.

But I don't _have_ any new information to give her. Wonderful.

I suppose I could claim that I wanted to talk to her about last night. Just the thought of tasting her lips again has me gunning for this new idea.

But if she really is out on the battlefield, distracting her with this charm is the last thing I should want to do. Then again, with all the protective charms I cast on that necklace, she should be—_should_ be—safe.

No, I don't want to take that chance.

Fuck! If I can't just let go, I'm doomed. I'll be worrying about her all the time. I should just let her be. No more summoning. That's it.

But even as these thoughts cross my mind, I know I can't leave her alone.

My fist curls around the serpent charm.

Several long minutes pass, and I start to worry about whether or not she will come at all. I get to my feet and start pacing. I have half a mind to go straight to Nottingham and take her right out of the fight.

She appears in front of me, and I almost collide with her, stopping myself just in time.

"Granger."

She frowns. "You look surprised. I thought you told me to come."

I nod, unable to make a sound. I silently curse myself. Her sudden appearance has thrown me off, and I find myself staring at her. Judging from her appearance, she wasn't on the battlefield—she looks unruffled, and her hair is relatively tame.

And then it occurs to me that I didn't have to summon her at all—I could have simply used the Spying Charm that I put on her necklace. Fuck! It's official: I am a pathetically dimwitted man.

"Well?" she says expectantly, watching me carefully.

I stop lamenting my lack of intelligence in all matters related to this… _woman_ and scramble to think of something to tell her. I come up with nothing.

A small smile stretches her lips. "My, oh my, I never thought I'd see the day when the great Draco Malfoy would be completely speechless," she says.

Why does she sound so fucking confident? Where did _my_ confidence go?

I turn away from her and move to sit down on the couch. If I can't regain my own confidence, the least I can do is shake her up a bit. And I know just what to do.

From my seat on the couch, I look up at her and give her a small smile.

"What do you want?" she asks. "The battle's going on right now, and I don't want to waste time here if I don't have to."

"You wouldn't have come if you couldn't spare the time," I say. Before she can protest, I hold up a hand and continue, "I promise I won't take up too much of your time."

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. "What did you want to tell me?"

"I just wanted to apologize for last night," I say.

She seems to be struggling to hide her shock. "Wait, you're—you're _apologizing?_"

"Yes, that's what I said."

"But… but why?"

I chuckle. "Why what?"

She exhales deeply. "Can I sit?"

"Sure."

She moves to sit on the couch, staying a safe distance away from me.

"Why are you apologizing? You're _Malfoy_."

I frown.

"Sorry, that came out wrong," she says, shaking her head.

I start to answer her question. "I'm apologizing for kissing you." I let a grin creep onto my face. "I was curious to see how you'd react."

She glares at me. "The same way you 'tested' me back at Grimmauld Place?"

"Yeah, sure. Something like that."

"I'm a human, not a test subject. You can't just—"

"I know, I know," I say, interrupting her. "That's why I'm apologizing now."

"Oh, and is that supposed to make it all better? You had me up all the rest of the night trying to figure out what the _hell_ you meant by that kiss!"

I glance at her. Up all night? Really? I rather enjoy the thought that I rattled her enough to keep her up all night. Her cheeks are a light shade of pink. She probably hadn't meant to say that aloud—at least, not all of it.

I choose not to comment. "What can I do to make it up to you, then?"

From her expression, I can tell that I've surprised her again. I wait patiently for her to speak.

Finally, she asks, "Who are you, and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?"

I laugh. Clearly, she has no idea how much she affects me. Well, let's keep it that way.

"I'm serious," she says.

"It's going to take one hell of a long time to win this war," I say. "I don't plan on dying anytime soon, and as long as we both stay alive, I'll keep passing information along to the Order. I figure… as long as we're going to be working together, we might as well try to get along."

"And the kiss was…?"

"That was just me being… stupid," I say.

She looks shocked that I would call myself stupid.

"My apology… look at it like an olive branch."

I sigh. It really _is_ hard for me to apologize to anyone. I look up at her face, and it becomes easier. Goddamn it, I can't get over how much she affects me!

"Look, Granger, I'm sorry. What more do you want from me?"

My gaze unintentionally rests on her lips, and I suddenly want to kiss her again. No. No, no, no.

"You're right, Malfoy," she says finally, shaking her head. "It'll be a lot easier if we're at least civil with each other."

I nod.

"Is that all you wanted to tell me?" she asks.

"Pretty much, yes." _And_ I wanted to make sure she was all right… but she doesn't have to know that.

"I should go, then. Members of the Order could be getting back from the battlefield hurt, and I have to help," she says, getting to her feet.

"Always so altruistic, you are. Do you never do anything for yourself?" I ask.

She looks at me oddly. "We all do some things for ourselves, don't we?"

I nod. She lifts her wand to Disapparate.

"Granger, wait," I say.

She turns to face me.

"Take care."

"Thanks, Malfoy."

She Disapparates with a quiet pop.

Two conflicting emotions compete inside me—relief that she's out of harm's way and disgust at my own weakness. I won't be able to accomplish _anything_ if I'm always worrying about her safety.

And with that thought, I'm back to square one.

Sighing, I lean back on the couch and close my eyes, trying to think about something that doesn't have to do with that bushy-haired girl.

There's probably a traitor within the Order.

The ambush at the Leaky Cauldron seemed almost too easy to arrange, but I suppose it was doable without inside help. However, I'm sure that Voldemort couldn't have known where Finnegan was going to be last night without an informer.

Yes, the protectors of the Light have themselves a turncoat.


	20. Chapter 20 H

**Author's Note:** Second chapter of today, as promised. Read and review! (:

**Chapter 20**

I Apparate into the room and immediately have a very, very close-up view of a shirt. I instinctively take a step back and see that Malfoy looks surprised to see me.

"Granger," he says.

"You look surprised. I thought you told me to come."

He nods but doesn't reply, and I wonder what's going on in that head of his. Surely he has something to tell me. Someone else who needs my help could be arriving at Grimmauld Place any minute, and I have to hurry back.

"Well?" I say.

He still doesn't say a word, and suddenly it looks to me as though he's at a loss. I can't help but smile.

"My, oh my," I say, "I never thought I'd see the day when the great Draco Malfoy would be completely speechless."

Still, he doesn't respond. _Why_ won't he say anything? Then he turns around and sits down on the couch. I sigh and wait for him to speak. Does he have something for me or not? Then he smiles, and I feel like I have to spur things on.

"What do you want? The battle's going on right now, and I don't want to waste time here if I don't have to."

"You wouldn't have come if you couldn't spare the time," he says.

I only came because he said _now_!

"I promise I won't take up too much of your time," he says, holding a hand up in surrender.

"What did you want to tell me?" I ask.

"I just wanted to apologize for last night."

Whoa, whoa, _whoa_. _What _did I just hear?

"Wait, you're—you're _apologizing?_" I say aloud.

"Yes, that's what I said."

"But… but why?" I ask, bewildered.

He laughs lightly. "Why what?"

Oh, god. Why what, indeed. Why are you apologizing to me? Why did you kiss me the first time? Why did you kiss me the second time? Why did you choose to turn to our side? Why is it that you've never been far from my thoughts since the first time we spoke in three years? Oh… I need to sit down.

"Can I sit?" I ask.

"Sure."

I walk around the coffee table and sit down on the couch, keeping some distance from Malfoy.

Settle for the simplest question first.

"Why are you apologizing?" I ask. You're _Malfoy_.

A frown immediately appears on his face, and I realize that I spoke the last part aloud. I shake my head. "Sorry, that came out wrong."

"I'm apologizing for kissing you," he says. He grins and continues, "I was curious to see how you'd react."

Oh _curiosity_, was it? Damn him!

"The same way you 'tested' me back at Grimmauld Place?" I say.

"Yeah, sure. Something like that."

Why does he sound so nonchalant? Ugh!

"I'm a human, not a test subject. You can't just—"

"I know, I know," he cuts me off. "That's why I'm apologizing now."

"Oh, and is that supposed to make it all better?" I say angrily. "You had me up all the rest of the night trying to figure out what the _hell_ you meant by that kiss!"

He glances at me, and I realize that I probably shouldn't have said the last part aloud. My cheeks grow uncomfortably hot, and I avert my eyes. I glare at the coffee table. I hate that he gets me so worked up.

"What can I do to make it up to you, then?" he asks in a soft voice.

I look over at him, unable to hide my surprise. He looks completely sincere, not an ounce of mockery on his features. His eyes look especially beautiful right now, and suddenly I don't want to look away. Why can't he always look like this? Scratch that—if he always looked like this, then I'd always be hopelessly distracted by him.

I take a deep breath, regaining composure.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?"

He only laughs, and I sigh.

"I'm serious."

"It's going to take one hell of a long time to win this war. I don't plan on dying anytime soon, and as long as we both stay alive, I'll keep passing information along to the Order," he explains. "I figure… as long as we're going to be working together, we might as well try to get along."

Okay, that makes sense. "And the kiss was…?" I ask.

"That was just me being… stupid."

He's so… so _abnormal_ today! The Malfoy I knew from school would _never_ admit to doing something stupid, yet he's labeling himself with that word without flinching. What's happening to the world?

"My apology…" he says, "look at it like an olive branch."

Wow. He's making a peace offer. I don't even know how I should react. I… I'm supposed to accept, right? This is starting to seem too good to be true, and I begin to wonder if he's about to say that he's only joking and that he would never apologize to a Mudblood like me.

"Look, Granger, I'm sorry. What more do you want from me?"

What more _do_ I want? He's apologized, and the kiss… while it made me lose quite a bit of sleep and scared me out of my wits—in the aftermath, I mean—it didn't really _hurt_ me, did it? As long as it never, ever happens again, it'll be fine.

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. "You're right, Malfoy. It'll be a lot easier if we're at least civil with each other."

He nods, a relieved smile making his face light up. Again, I start wishing for the familiarity of his smirks and snide comments. No, no. We're going to be civil now. I have to get used to that… that beautiful, near-irresistible smile. Just looking at his mouth makes my lips tingle with the memory of being kissed by him. I hurriedly try to repress my thoughts and remind myself that members of the Order are still fighting as we speak.

"Is that all you wanted to tell me?" I ask.

"Pretty much, yes," he says.

"I should go, then. Members of the Order could be getting back from the battlefield hurt, and I have to help," I reply. I stand up.

"Always so altruistic, you are," he comments. "Do you never do anything for yourself?"

What a strange question. I've always believed that humans are inherently selfish creatures on some level, and I'm no different. "We all do some things for ourselves, don't we?" I reply.

I lift my wand to Disapparate, but his words stop me.

"Granger, wait."

I turn to face him and see a strange expression on his face, one that I don't recognize.

"Take care," he says.

My heart skips a beat. The expression that I see is concern. _Concern_. Is Malfoy—does he—_no_, it's simply impossible!

I have to get out of here.

"Thanks, Malfoy," I say quickly before Disapparating.

Appearing on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place, I take a few deep breaths to calm myself. I was seeing things. I was too surprised by his change in demeanor, and I imagined that look on his face. He couldn't _possibly_ care about _my_ well-being.

But he told me to take care. And the tone of his voice… it was… more tender than his voice had ever been before when he spoke to me.

I shake my head. I'll have time to think about this later. I knock on the door, and it swings open almost instantly. Dean Thomas points his wand at me.

"What's your middle name?"

I gasp. "Dean, your arm!"

His left arm is hanging limply at his side, looking frighteningly boneless.

"Answer the question," he barks, his face extremely pale for his normal olive skin tone.

"Jean."

"Where—"

"My parents think they're Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and they're in Australia."

I step into the room as I finish answering the question and shut the door.

"Let me look at your arm," I say.

The kitchen door bangs open, and Fred appears.

"Dean, I thought I told you to stay put!" he says.

The curtains in front of Mrs. Black's portrait fly open, and the familiar shrieks fill the room. I'm distracted by the completely boneless state of Dean's arm.

"I think we have some Skele-Gro in the kitchen—come on," I say, leading the way in.

I hear Fred's furious shout behind me.

"Goddamn it, woman! If you don't shut up, I _will_ set you on fire!"

I walk into the kitchen and see that three more stretchers are occupied, and that Angelina's still in her original place. I tell Dean to sit down on the nearest unoccupied stretcher and Summon a bottle of Skele-Gro from the potions cupboard.

"That tastes awful, doesn't it?" Dean asks me. "Harry told me about it."

"I haven't tasted it myself," I reply.

I pour some of the potion into a cup and hand it to him. He sniffs it and makes a face. I look around and see Colin Creevey lying to Angelina's left and Charlie to her right. On the other side of Charlie is a middle-aged man whom I don't recognize. All four lying on the stretchers are unconscious.

"Ugh!" Dean exclaims, putting down the empty cup. "That was _disgusting!_"

"Sorry," I say distractedly as Fred reenters the room. I walk over to him and ask, "Who's that man?"

"Muggle," Fred says. "He got caught in the crossfire. Dean brought him back."

"With one arm?" I say, raising an eyebrow.

"He was dying," Dean says. "Aw fuck, my arm hurts."

I mutter a charm to hopefully numb or lessen the pain. "Sorry, but that's all I can do."

"It's all right, Hermione," he says, wincing. "Thanks."

"What did Malfoy tell you?" Fred asks.

I resist the urge to bite my lip nervously. I'm saved from replying when we hear another knock on the front door.

"Forget it, I'll be right back," Fred says.

I step in the way. "It's all right, I'll get it," I say, exiting the room.

I move down the hall quickly and pull open the door. My wand is pointed at Blaise and a barely conscious figure slumped against him.

"Where—" I begin to ask.

"I'm not coming in," he says. "I was bringing her back."

I look more closely and find that the girl is Hannah Abbott. Her skin is tinted an unhealthy shade of green. Blaise transfers her weight onto me, and I shout for Fred to come help. Mrs. Black wakes up again, but I ignore her. Blaise starts to Disapparate, but I speak up to stop him.

"No, wait!"

Fred comes and takes Hannah from me, and I walk out onto the doorstep.

"You're bleeding," I say, using a nonverbal spell to staunch the blood pouring from a cut much too close to his carotid artery.

"I'm fine," he replies, trying to push me back inside. He sways a little on his feet.

"No, you're not," I argue.

But then he gives a hard shove, and as soon as I lose my grip on his arm, he's gone.

"Damn it!"

I walk back into the house and slam the front door behind me. Then I hurry into the kitchen, continuing to ignore Mrs. Black's screams. It'd be pointless to try to shut her up again. When I enter the kitchen, Fred has placed Hannah on a stretcher and is looking at her, bewildered. Tentacles have begun to sprout from her face, arms and chest.

He looks up at me. "How…?"

I sigh. It's going to be a _very_ long night.


	21. Chapter 21 H

**Author's Note:** I just got settled into my apartment, starting class on Monday! Fun stuff. Oh, and I guess not _very_ much happens in this chapter, but I felt like it was necessary. Happy reading!

**Chapter 21**

"Hermione, _please_ go to bed."

I look up and rub my eyes. "I'm fine."

Blaise sighs. "You're going to work yourself to death."

"Yeah, Hermione. We've got everything covered down here," Harry says.

His left arm is in a sling. I'm so exhausted that I can't even remember what happened to his arm that made me put it in a sling. He notices that my eyes are fixed on his arm and shakes his head.

"Hermione, you're dead on your feet," he says.

I'm standing in the kitchen. Six more stretchers are filled, which makes the grand total of injured people who made it to Grimmauld Place eleven.

Antonin Dolohov used that vile curse of his on two more fighters after Angelina: Neville and a Ravenclaw named Jeanette, two years below me at Hogwarts. I was able to save Neville, but Jeanette wasn't so lucky. Justin Finch-Fletchley brought her to Shell Cottage. When nobody knew what to do with her, he took her here, but it was already too late to save her.

The Death Eaters retreated on Bellatrix's command when it seemed they wouldn't be able to reach the city. Jeanette was the only death in this fight, and the Death Eaters didn't inflict any irreparable damage upon the city, so Lupin deemed it a "success".

But watching all of our injured comrades, looking at the white sheet that covers Jeanette's still body, all of us feel otherwise.

A firm grip on my arm pulls me out of my thoughts, and I look up to see that Blaise is leading me out of the kitchen.

He returned half an hour ago banged up and bleeding, but with some Blood Replenishing Potion and plenty of rest, he'll be all right.

"Blaise, I'm fine," I say.

"Yeah, you just keep saying that," he says irritably.

I hear Harry's voice, "Make sure she goes to sleep."

Before I know it, we're in my room.

"Blaise, you can go."

"You're just going to come right back downstairs if I don't stay here and watch you," he says.

I sigh. "You've got to at least let me undress to go to bed, then."

He looks as though he's going to make some funny comment, but the look on my face seems to change his mind.

"Let me know when you're done," he says, exiting the room.

I change into my nightgown and walk over to the door, pulling it open. As Blaise reenters, I cross the room and slide under the covers.

The last thing I see before I slip into oblivion is Blaise sitting down on the side of my bed.

* * *

_I'm up against a wall, my body covered in sweat as I writhe and buck my hips against the fingers that are pumping into me over and over._

"_Oh, god—oh, god—_ohhhh_ my god—"_

_My moans become unintelligible as I near that peak, and his lips cover mine, swallowing up my cries._

_Then he removes his fingers, and I break the kiss, growling my disappointment. He clicks his tongue, looking at me with an amused expression. Annoyed at being the source of his amusement, I grind my hips against his, and he groans._

"_Fuck, Hermione," he grits out._

_His hands lift me up, and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist and tighten my arms around his neck. I arch up against him and catch his lower lip between my teeth, eliciting a growl from low in his throat. He captures my lips in a feverish kiss._

_He carries me away from the wall, keeping a firm grip on me to ensure that I won't fall. Then I feel the soft fabric of the couch against my bare back, and his weight presses down on me. Our lips finally separate, and he braces himself above me on his elbows._

_My body aches for him, and I can't breathe properly. His grey eyes are dark and stormy, boring into mine intensely, and I feel that he's asking permission. Unable to speak, I tug him closer for another kiss and thrust my hips upward against his._

I'm being shaken gently, and a familiar voice says my name.

"Hermione? Are you okay?"

"Blaise?" I say, looking up at him.

"You were twitching," he says. "Nightmare?"

I become aware that the thin material between my legs is soaked, and I'm grateful that my blanket is too thick for me to soak through. Merlin… I just had a wet dream about… about _Malfoy_.

I close my eyes. "Yeah, it was a nightmare."

"Would it help to talk about it?" he asks.

No, _no_, most definitely not. I shake my head. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A few hours. It's almost sunrise."

"How is everyone?" I ask.

"They're fine."

"And Ginny… is she back?"

"Molly took her to Shell Cottage. Stop worrying about everyone else, all right?"

"Have you stayed awake this whole time?"

He smiles. "It's surprisingly peaceful, watching you sleep. I thought I'd be bored out of my mind."

"Blaise, go to bed, all right?"

"Sure, sure."

He stands up and moves over to Ginny's bed, where he kicks off his shoes and crawls under the covers.

"I meant, go to your _own_ bed."

"She won't come back tonight, anyway. And Harry told me to stay here with you."

"Since when did you start following orders?"

"Since they started coinciding with what I want," he replies, grinning.

"Fine," I say. "Good night, Blaise."

"Night, Hermione."

The stickiness between my thighs is very uncomfortable, but I don't want to clean it up while Blaise is still here, so it looks like I'll just have to wait until he falls asleep. But knowing him, he's waiting to sleep until I'm asleep. Ugh, stubborn man.

I close my eyes, and my mind flashes back to that look of concern on Malfoy's face as he told me to take care.

God, I'd almost forgotten about that.

No. Didn't I already decide that I'd only imagined it? He had looked and sounded so… so sincere. It couldn't have been real. He may have tried to make peace between us, but that didn't mean he would want me to be safe—after all, he's probably just hoping that I'll be taken out so that they can replace me with someone who isn't a Muggle-born.

I remember the feel of his lips against mine, and flashbacks from the dream temporarily take over my mind. Am I… attracted to Malfoy? No… no, I _can't_ be.

Think, Hermione, think.

It was just a dream. Just a dream. I remember a mention of wet dreams in a book that I'd read a while back called _The World of Dreams_. They don't necessarily reflect anything that the dreamer would usually like or want. Exactly. I don't want that man at all. It was all just a dream. Maybe I had that dream because I was thrown off by his sudden decision to make peace with me.

Ugh, he kept me up last night by kissing me, and now he's keeping me up again by apologizing to me and then invading my dreams. I groan and flip onto my side.

"You okay there?"

Of course he's still awake. "I'm fine, Blaise."

"Let me go downstairs and get you a Sleeping Draught, all right?"

Without waiting for my reply, he gets out of bed and moves toward the door. I sigh and decide not to stop him. Maybe I _should_ just take some potion to get to sleep. Sunrise is coming soon, and I'll probably end up sleeping past noon, but I suppose I do need to rest.

Blaise reenters the room a few minutes later, and I sit up, looking at him.

"Weasley's not happy that we're alone here, together," he says, shutting the door.

"I'm not surprised."

He grins as he walks toward my bed. "Neither am I. It annoys me that I have to put up with his sullenness even though we're not doing anything. Maybe we should do a little something that'll make his anger a bit more justified."

I laugh. "What are you suggesting?"

He conjures a glass, pours some dark-colored liquid out of a jug, and sets both the jug and the glass down on my nightstand.

"What, are you actually considering it?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Smiling, I shake my head. "You know me. Answer that question yourself."

"I think I could convince you," he says, picking the glass up and holding it out to me.

"I'd like to see you try," I reply, unsure where my confidence is coming from. I guess being his friend for so long makes me sure that he wouldn't ever do anything to me as long as I didn't want him to.

"Just drink the potion. I don't like the idea of taking advantage of you while you're exhausted. We can pick this up some other day."

I roll my eyes at him and take the glass.

"Thanks, Blaise."

The liquid is tasteless, and I hand the empty glass back to him before lying back down. I close my eyes, and warmth envelops me.


	22. Chapter 22 H

**Author's Note:** I still get pissed off whenever my chapter title is pushed to the left. They should think about changing that "share" option. I liked it better when it was at the bottom of the page, honestly.

**Chapter 22**

"Ron, _move!_" I shout, shoving him to the side.

I fire a curse at the Death Eater who was sneaking up on him, but he blocks it and advances. I dive behind a bush to dodge a hex and watch as Ron spins around to duel that Death Eater.

Then I hear familiar, high-pitched laughter. Bellatrix.

I run toward the source of the voice and see her, without her mask or her cloak, dueling Mrs. Weasley. I throw a Shield Charm at Mrs. Weasley just in time to block a curse, and Bellatrix spins around to face me. She leaps to the side as a flash of green light flies in her direction, and I duck rapidly to avoid being hit.

I point my wand at the tree above her head and shout, "Bombarda!"

The branches explode, and Bellatrix waves her wand rapidly, freezing all the fragments in midair. Then she points her wand at me, and they come shooting in my direction.

I duck behind a tree and hear the loud clattering as bits of wood crash into the bark on the other side of the tree. I can hear Bellatrix and Mrs. Weasley resuming their duel.

An axe comes flying at me, and I point my wand at it, sending it ricocheting back in the direction from which it had come.

I run around the tree and watch as George Weasley is struck in the chest by Dolohov.

"Noooo!" I scream, shouting the first curse that comes into my head.

He deflects it and points his wand right at me. He barks an incantation, but nothing happens. Taking advantage of his surprise, I send a Stunning Spell his way, and the red jet of light hits him square in the chest.

I dive out of the way of another green jet of light and reach for George's arm. I glance up and see that the last jet of light came from Voldemort himself. My gut clenches in fear, and I freeze.

He points his wand at me, but before he can fire a curse in my direction, a Killing Curse flies toward him, and he's momentarily distracted.

I distinctly hear Blaise's voice above the sounds of the fight all around me.

"Go, Hermione! GO!"

I grip George's arm tightly and Apparate back to Grimmauld Place.

I bang furiously on the door, and it's thrown open.

"Jean, Wendell and Monica Wilkins, Australia," I say quickly before Harry can even ask the questions.

He helps to take George from me, and we move to the kitchen swiftly.

"Has anyone—" he begins to ask.

"No, not yet," I reply before he finishes his question. I know that he wants to know if anyone's died yet.

"Ron and Ginny—"

"They should be fine."

We set George down on a stretcher; we're more prepared this time. The necessary potions are already sitting on the counter, in order—Angelina and Neville are still recovering from the Nottingham fight four days ago, and they need a drop of each potion every day.

"These are in order," I tell Harry. "Give him one drop from each bottle, just like Angelina and Neville. I have to go back."

"No, let me. You stay here," he says.

I shake my head. "Harry, you can't go. Voldemort's there."

"All the more reason to go, then. I can finish him," he says.

"Harry, _no_," I say, grabbing his arm before he can leave the room. "Don't make me hex you. There are far too many Death Eaters there right now. They were prepared—they must have known we were coming."

He takes a deep breath. "_Fine_. Go—go quickly. Tell them to come back, before anyone dies. If they were prepared for us, there's no way we can win this fight."

I nod and hurry out of the kitchen.

When I reach the battlefield, not many are still fighting. Lupin must have given the order to retreat already. I catch sight of him holding off a group of three Death Eaters and rush to join him.

Where's Voldemort?

I scan my surroundings but don't see him.

A Stunning Spell comes right at me. I don't have time to dodge, but it rebounds when it comes within a foot of my face. Startled, I watch as the red jet of light doubles back and hits the Death Eater who fired it. McGonagall joins us from another direction, and we stand back to back as a huge group of Death Eaters swarms around us—there seem to be even more now than there were before.

Where did everyone go? I didn't see them at Grimmauld Place.

Then impenetrable darkness surrounds us, and I can't see a thing. I immediately focus on Grimmauld Place as my destination and Apparate there a moment later. As I bang on the door, Fred appears behind me.

"Hermione," he says. "Thank Merlin you got outta there okay."

"Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder," I say.

He nods. "You know everything, don't you? I saw you take George—he's here, right?"

Then the front door is thrown open, and Ginny points her wand at the two of us. After answering her questions, we both enter.

"When did you get back?" I ask.

"Apparently right after you left," she replies as we head toward the kitchen.

When we enter, Harry smiles at us grimly. "George looks okay."

"Fucking Dolohov," Fred mutters. "Why didn't you kill him while you had the chance, Hermione?"

I shake my head. "Sorry, I just used the first spell that popped into my head."

"We're lucky none of the other Death Eaters use that curse of his," Ginny says. "Did any of you hear the incantation?"

I try to remember what it had sounded like, but all I can remember is the look of shock on his face when there was no effect on me. Why was I spared?

"Where is everyone else?" Harry asks.

"Most of them went to McGonagall's, some to Shell Cottage," Fred replies.

"Why?"

"I think I know why," I say. "There were so many Death Eaters—any of them could have grabbed us when we tried to Apparate. If we led so much as _one_ of them to Grimmauld Place, we'd be handing Harry over to Voldemort."

Then the fireplace comes to life, and we move toward it.

"Harry, are you there?"

"Tonks," Harry says, moving closer. Sure enough, her face is in the fire.

"Who's at Grimmauld Place?" she asks.

"Fred, George, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione," I say. Remembering the injured who are still upstairs from the last fight, I add, "Angelina, Neville, Colin, and Hannah are still here." All of the others have recovered already.

"Alicia isn't there?"

"No," Fred says.

"How about Lee?"

"No, he isn't here either. What's going on?" Harry asks.

"If they're not at Grimmauld Place, then I don't think they made it back," Tonks says. "Lupin and I checked with the other safe houses already. Molly has Bill, Charlie, Ron, Dean, and Ernie at Shell Cottage. No one showed up at Muriel's home. Katie and Justin came with us. The professors went back with McGonagall."

Harry voices the question just as it goes through my head, "Where's Blaise?"

Tonks frowns and shakes her head. "I don't know. I have to get in contact with Molly, let her know that Ginny and the twins are all right."

"George is hurt," Fred says. "Got hit by Dolohov."

Tonks curses. "Next time anyone has a chance, _kill_ him," she says.

With that, her face disappears, and the fire goes back to normal.

"Someone must have betrayed us," Fred says. "There shouldn't have been that many Death Eaters there. They were expecting us."

Harry transfigures one of the vacant stretchers into a chair and sits down. "I'm sure McGonagall and Lupin will want a meeting soon. We'll have to talk about it there."

"And what do you think happened to Alicia, Lee and Blaise?" Ginny asks. "You don't think they're… _dead_, do you?"

"We were right outside a Death Eater camp. They could have been taken prisoner," I say.

"If so, we still have hope," Harry says. "We can try to rescue them."

"It'll probably be best to find out who the traitor is before we do anything about that, so that they won't be able to alert the Death Eaters," I say. "I can ask Malfoy about prisoners the next time I see him."

"Speaking of Malfoy, has he contacted you since the last time?" Fred asks.

I shake my head. I haven't seen him since the night of the fight at Nottingham, four days ago. He's plagued my thoughts, and sometimes I think I feel the burn of the charm against my skin, but upon inspection, the back of the charm always remains blank, and the inscription of my initials remains the same.

"Is there any way you can get in contact with him?" Harry asks me.

"No," I say.

I wonder if Malfoy knows anything about our fight. Was he there tonight, in Bristol? I wouldn't have known even if I'd seen him, since I've never seen his mask before.

Then I think of Blaise. No, he can't get caught or killed. He still hasn't gotten an answer for me as to which Death Eater might have been the one who released me. I'll tell Malfoy that he's missing. They used to be best friends—I'm almost sure that Malfoy would help if he knew that Blaise might be captured.

But I suppose Blaise could possibly be all right. After all, he didn't return until late morning the day after the battle at the Leaky Cauldron.

I have to be patient.

Damn it, Malfoy, I need you. Where'd you go?

* * *

**Author's Note:** Class starts tomorrow! Fun, fun. As a warning, I may not update for a few days. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I promise not to leave you guys hanging for too long.


	23. Chapter 23 D

**Author's Note:** See, told you it wouldn't be long! My first two days of school were okay. So far, math makes sense, and stat is bewildering, as is usual, for me. At least, as far as college courses go. Anyway, I decided to take a little time out to edit this chapter and post it for you. Read and review! (:

**Chapter 23**

I lie down on the small cot that I conjured for myself, look up at the roof of the tent, and let out a tired sigh.

It's been just over a week since I last saw Granger, and the separation is almost painful. I haven't been able to watch over her at all either—I've been traveling with Macnair, and his constant presence is suffocating me.

Our mission was to go up north to Durmstrang and recruit the seventh years—Voldemort had allowed Durmstrang to continue running as usual in order to keep feeding skilled students into his army.

Karkaroff was resentful of me and tried to avoid speaking to me as much as possible, but Macnair seemed to enjoy his reaction whenever I gave him an order, so I was forced to boss him around for most of our short trip.

"What are you thinking about, Malfoy Jr.?"

"That's none of your business, Macnair," I say, sitting up.

"There were more recruits this year than last," he says, switching to a new topic randomly. He seems to do that often. "I think those sniveling kids are learning which side is the winning side."

"Seeing as the people who refuse are tortured or killed, I don't think it's a hard lesson to learn," I say dryly.

He frowns. "It's going to be a sad day when none of them refuse anymore. I'll have to find someone new to torture."

I hold back a grimace and turn to face him, letting my legs hang off the makeshift bed. "Yes. Shame, that is. It'll take a long time before all the Mudbloods are gone, so you shouldn't have to worry about that for a while."

His face lights up with glee, and I feel like I'm going to be sick. I hate this man.

"Speaking of Mudbloods—"

Fuck, here we go again.

"—I caught a married couple, a few hours after you left my flat last week," he says.

I don't want to hear this.

"Had to leave them hanging by their ankles for a while, though, because there was that nasty bit of business about hiding the dagger."

Dagger? That I'm interested in. I still don't know what Voldemort wanted with it. "Where'd you hide it?" I ask casually.

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "I like you boy, but I can't tell you that. Top secret orders."

I grin mischievously. "What's a little secret between partners?"

"No, no. The Dark Lord will know if I've said anything. I know you're skilled in Occlumency, but I'm bloody rotten at it."

I laugh and wonder whether I can get him to tell me by accident. To keep him talking, I ask, "What did you do to the Mudbloods when you returned?"

"Well, turns out they had a Mudblood boy who went to Hogwarts, so they knew about us Death Eaters, and they begged for me to let them go. I, of course, decided to act as though I was considering it. They offered me a house, a bloody _car_, as if I'd benefit from owning any of that shit."

"What'd you start them off with?" I ask.

"I set fire to the wife's hair. Oh, the screaming was lovely."

He smiles at the memory, and I force myself to smile as well.

"I think I singed her scalp a bit," he says.

I shake my head. "Getting clumsy there, Macnair."

"It sure worried her husband, though," he says, laughing. "You should have seen the look on his face!"

"Yeah, wish I'd been there," I say, smirking.

"I told you that you should've stayed."

"You had the dagger to look after though, didn't you?"

"Oh, it didn't take long. Just a quick trip to Borgin and Burkes, and I was back. Didn't take long at all."

Bingo. The dagger must be in Borgin and Burkes. Might be a useful piece of information in the future, but honestly I don't know what to do with it, at the moment.

"I didn't know they were still open," I comment.

"Ah, yes. Well, Mr. Borgin has always been supportive of the Dark Lord's noble quest. Naturally, he is not to be punished by losing his business."

I nod in agreement. "Naturally."

"Now what were we talking about?"

"I was about to tell you that I wanted to get some sleep. We have to be up in two hours to report to the Dark Lord," I lie.

"Yes, of course," Macnair says.

I'm thankful for his faulty memory. He _is_ getting up in years, after all.

I lie back down on the cot, close my eyes, and wonder what Granger's up to.

It takes about half an hour before Macnair's breathing deepens, and I'm sure he's asleep. I shift onto my side, facing away from him, and draw the charm out from beneath my shirt. I hold the charm tightly in my fist and concentrate on tomorrow's date, half past three in the afternoon.

* * *

I reach my cottage a few minutes ahead of time. I can't wait until she arrives. I have to see her, have to speak to her.

The meeting with Voldemort this morning was almost pleasant, which was strange. He was extremely pleased with the two of us and said that he would have something even better in store for us soon. That statement made me slightly uneasy, but Macnair was practically bubbling with joy.

After returning to the Manor, I argued with my father yet again, but Aunt Bella interceded and told me to go to my room, where my mother was waiting for me.

I'm positive now that there's a traitor in the Order.

My mother complained that my father was nearly killed a few days ago, when the Order attempted to attack one of our camps near Bristol. Voldemort had known about the attack in advance and arrived to kill Potter, but Potter hadn't come. According to Mother, many members of the Order were killed. But she has a tendency to make huge affairs out of nothing, so I can't trust her judgment.

Then I hear _her_ voice and snap out of my thoughts.

"Malfoy."

I stop pacing and look up to see her standing behind the couch. She looks tired.

"Granger. I heard about what happened at Bristol."

"Heard about it? Then you weren't there."

I shake my head. "No. How's the Order?"

"We're all right," she says. "We think there's a traitor. Do you have any idea who it could be?"

"Sorry, no. But I can help you narrow it down. The traitor had to have known about your plans to attack us at the Leaky Cauldron and Bristol, but they can't have known about Nottingham. If they did, I'm sure Voldemort would have known, and it wouldn't have been so successful for you."

I look at her and feel as though time has stopped. She's biting her lip, brows furrowed as she tries to think of someone who fits into the category that I've given her. I want to reach out and rub away the crease between her brows, tell her that I can take care of everything, and it will all turn out fine.

I force myself to turn away, gritting my teeth. _No_.

"After Nottingham, I'm sure Voldemort will suspect that you've got a spy in his forces," I say.

"Will you be all right?" I hear her ask from behind me.

My heart leaps at the tiny show of concern. Fuck! She doesn't even care about me, as a person. She'll only care about me as long as I'm a reliable source of information. Fucking _hell_, Draco, get that into your head!

"I'll be fine," I say, masking my emotions.

"Some of our people might have been captured at Bristol. Do you know—"

"I can't help you with prisoners," I say. I can't risk that.

"But… Blaise still hasn't returned. I think he might be with the others," she says.

I spin around to face her, a smirk on my face. "What, you think I'll risk my neck for the 'friend' who gave me _this?_"

I tug my shirt open, popping the top few buttons off in the process, in order to reveal the twisted scar that runs across my torso. She hisses and backs up a step, eyes wide with surprise. I switch to an amused expression as I watch her reaction, but I almost want to apologize. That was needlessly rude.

Fuck! Now I'm worried about being _rude?_ Who _am_ I?

"Yours… it looks worse than his," she says.

Jealous anger flares to life inside me as it dawns on me that if she's seen the scar on his back, then she's seen him with his shirt off.

Before I can think of a reply, she's slowly stepping towards me.

"Granger, what are you doing?" I ask, standing my ground as she approaches.

She stops right in front of me and looks up to meet my eyes. I can't tell what she's thinking, and it really bothers me. I haven't had trouble reading her in the past. Then her eyes flick back down to my chest, and I feel indecent. I reach for my wand to fix my shirt, but she reaches her left hand out, stopping mine.

Without releasing my hand, she uses her right hand to lightly touch the top of the scar, which starts just below my left collarbone.

A jolt of heat lances through me, and I inhale sharply, unable to stop myself. She draws her hand back quickly, eyes swinging back up to meet mine again. I shut my eyes, afraid that they'll reveal my emotions to her. She'll always be my weak spot.

Then her fingers begin to trace down the length of the scar.

My left hand jerks up to grip her wrist, stopping her. The tips of her fingers are still barely touching my chest, and I swallow hard. I don't want her to stop, but I can't let her go on like that. My control is in threads already. I hate how easily she's unwound me.

"Malfoy," she says softly.

I take a few breaths before opening my eyes to meet hers, confident now that they will be cold and emotionless as steel.

"Don't touch me," I say in a controlled voice.

I release her hand and take a step back, away from her. I detect a hint of sadness in her eyes and force myself to ignore it, turning away from her and taking a few steps to put some distance between us. I whip out my wand and mutter a spell. The buttons that had scattered on the ground fly back into place, and I button up my shirt.

I can't face her. I'm afraid to look at her face. I don't know what I expect to see there, don't know what I'll find.


	24. Chapter 24 D

**Author's Note:** I decided to finish up the scene here because I figured both of these two chapters are relatively short, and it's not fair to leave you guys hanging halfway through their conversation. But you might have to wait a bit for Hermione's part. I stayed up pretty late last night rewriting. I know I probably shouldn't be losing sleep over this, especially during school, but I couldn't help it.

So, here's the second half.

**Chapter 24**

She finally breaks the silence between us.

"Malfoy, please. Help me," she says.

She sounds so, so tired, just a hair away from defeated. It _kills_ me to hear the despair in her voice. Fuck. How can I resist her when she's weak? I have no choice when it comes to her. Goodbye, life.

I turn around but keep my eyes on the ground. "What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know. I just… we need information on the Death Eater camps. Where do you keep prisoners?"

I shake my head. "The only person who knows all of the layouts himself is Voldemort. Everyone else only knows one or two. I haven't ever been to the camp in Bristol."

"Then…"

I sigh and begin to rattle off information.

"They're usually underground, with the entrance guarded by a group of eight men. They're not the best fighters—that's why we need so many of them. There are always eight men, at every hour of the day, because they switch on and off duty in pairs of two, with usually twelve men in the rotation. But the location of the prison is different for each camp."

I glance at her face to see that she's watching me intently, and I have to turn away again. I disguise my moment of weakness as a start to pacing, and I walk a few steps away from her before turning to walk toward her again.

"Once underground, they all look pretty much the same. The cells can only be opened by someone bearing the Dark Mark or Voldemort himself."

"It sounds nearly impossible to free anyone, then," she says.

The urge to comfort her nearly overwhelms me, and I dig my fingernails into the flesh of my palms as punishment. No more of this. _No more_.

"Like I said, I can't really help you," I say calmly.

"If you really can't, there's not much left to do about it, I guess," she says. "I'm just really worried."

"I know."

After a brief pause, she asks, "Malfoy, is there any way that I can use this—" she pulls out her gold charm "—to contact you?"

I frown. "Why—"

"In case of an emergency," she replies.

I consider it for a moment. "Sure," I say. "First, close your fist around it."

She does as I say.

"Close your eyes."

She narrows her eyes at me before shutting them.

"Concentrate very hard on what you want to show up on my charm. You have to make sure it'll fit all right, or I'll have a hard time reading it," I say.

My serpent charm begins to burn my chest, but I feel numb to the pain. I pull the charm out and look at the back. My initials are now engraved on the charm, and I look up at her.

"What did you mean by it?" she asks, moving toward me and holding up her heart charm to show me the initials that I had marked it with after our first meeting.

I shake my head. "Didn't mean anything. Just reminding you that it was there."

"Really?"

"What else could it mean?" I say.

I have her there, and I can tell. She doesn't have any theories on why I would ever put her initials on the charm. Honestly, I don't know why I did it. Impulse, I guess. I would have marked it with my own initials, but I'm sure she would have thrown a fit and forced me to remove them.

"Did you have anything to tell me when you scheduled our meeting?" she asks me.

"Yeah. I was actually going to tell you something more about the traitor. Finnegan… he was murdered."

She doesn't look very surprised. "It was that, or he'd been caught," she says sadly.

I nod, squashing the part of me that wants to tell her the truth, to tell her that _I_ was the one who killed him. Instead, I say, "I think your traitor sold him out to us, because Voldemort knew where to find him ahead of time."

"All right," she says. "At least we know what happened to him. Do you have any idea who killed him?"

I shake my head. "You can go now."

Her eyes linger on me for a moment as though trying to decide whether or not to tell me something. I wait patiently for her to make up her mind.

"Malfoy, we captured Thorfinn Rowle two days ago," she says.

I chuckle. "Serves him right. Bumbling idiot, he was."

"Well, bumbling idiot he may be, but he won't crack under questioning. Is there any way—"

"Legilimency. He's a god-awful Occlumens. Can't defend his mind to save his life," I say.

"We erm… we don't have a good Legilimens," she says.

"Where'd Shacklebolt go?"

"He's out of the country."

"I see. I thought you'd be pretty good. I heard you had a bit of practice with Occlumency."

"Can I…" her voice fades, and she suddenly looks shy.

I frown. "What?"

She seems to be mentally preparing herself. For what? A negative response from me, I suppose.

Finally, she voices her question. "Can I practice on you?"

"What?" I say, surprised.

"It's just… I haven't ever practiced on anyone with any skill in Occlumency. Harry learned a little, but he's no good at it, and I—"

I shake my head. "Granger, don't worry. Potter's better than Rowle at Occlumency. You'll be able to get into his head just fine."

"But I just want—"

I shake my head again. "You're not getting into my head, Granger," I say firmly.

She points her wand at me. "Legilimens!"

I immediately shut down my mind, giving her no entrance. There is _no way_ that she will ever look into my thoughts. I don't care that I'm capable enough of defending the most important memories from her. I will not let her into my head. I've drawn myself a line, and this is it. She can control my actions. Toy with my body, my heart, my soul. But she _will not_ know my thoughts.

Her attempts to pry her way into my mind tickle more than hurt me. I can feel when she's given up.

"You really _are_ a very skilled Occlumens," she says.

I grin. "Obviously. Otherwise, would I dare cross the Dark Lord?"

She sighs. "Well, I'll be interrogating Rowle in two days. I'm busy brewing a plethora of potions at the moment, and I can't be gone from headquarters for more than an hour at a time."

"Go on back, then," I say. "You've already been here a while."

She nods. "Yes, I should go."

She walks past me slowly, and a moment later I hear the pop of her Disapparition.

Sighing, I make my way over to the couch and sit down. Then I feel the charm burning me through my shirt and pick it up to look at it.

My initials slowly vanish, replaced by the words, "Thank you", in small script.

I can only stare at the charm, dumbfounded. My chest feels incredibly warm, and this inexplicable happiness bubbles up inside me. Bloody hell. I repress the emotion, still unable to take my eyes off the tiny words. Finally, I cover them up with a finger and force my eyes shut.

What have I done to deserve this?

I'm not supposed to be emotional. Emotion generates weakness. Malfoys are strong, authoritative, detached, clever—not emotional.

_Never_ emotional.

Hermione Granger. Hermione. I wish I could call her that. Not Mudblood Granger, not Know-It-All Granger, not Prude Granger. Not Granger. Hermione.

What has she done to me? What have I done to myself?

Fuck.


	25. Chapter 25 H

**Author's Note:** I am currently extremely frustrated by my statistics homework. And when I say extremely, I mean I'm on the verge of throwing myself out the window x.x But I figured I'd feel a lot better editing the next chapter instead, so that's what I'm doing.

I usually like writing Draco's perspective better than Hermione's but as far as this conversation goes, I preferred Hermione's perspective. It was a bit more challenging, but I like how it turned out. Hope you do too!

**Chapter 25**

I'm absentmindedly stirring an Antidote for Uncommon Poisons when I look up at the clock and realize that it's already almost half past three. I turn to the only other person in the kitchen.

"Ginny, can you look after the potions while I go out? Malfoy asked me to meet him, so maybe I can finally get some information on prisoners."

"Sure," she replies, getting to her feet. She'd been sitting beside George's stretcher, bouncing pebbles off the opposite wall.

"Thanks."

I exit the kitchen, pause to tell Harry that I'm leaving, and depart from Grimmauld Place.

He's pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table when I arrive. He doesn't even notice my presence, and I take the opportunity to get a good look at him. His white-blond hair is a little messy, but his overall appearance is as immaculate as usual. He doesn't have his cloak on, and his button-up oxford shirt is very flattering.

"Malfoy," I say to get his attention.

He stops and turns to look at me. "Granger. I heard about what happened at Bristol."

"Heard about it?" I repeat. "Then you weren't there."

He shakes his head. "No. How's the Order?"

I probably shouldn't tell him the details. Powerful Occlumens or not, he shouldn't know too much about the Order. After all, we know that there's a traitor. Then again, he didn't know anything from our side about our planned attack on Bristol, so it couldn't be him… could it?

"We're all right," I say. "We think there's a traitor. Do you have any idea who it could be?"

"Sorry, no," he says.

Disappointment.

"But I can help you narrow it down," he continues. "The traitor had to have known about your plans to attack us at the Leaky Cauldron and Bristol, but they can't have known about Nottingham. If they did, I'm sure Voldemort would have known, and it wouldn't have been so successful for you."

Yes, that's true. Who could that be? All of the people who were immediately informed about Nottingham can probably be eliminated. Lupin, Tonks, McGonagall, and everyone who was staying at Grimmauld Place or Shell Cottage at the time should be fine.

I frown. Who _didn't_ participate in the fight at Nottingham? Some of the professors have been gone for some time, but I highly doubt it could have been any of them. Vector, Sinistra, Trelawney… I have the highest respect for all of them—except maybe Trelawney, but that's beside the point—and I doubt that any one of them would have betrayed us.

Then Malfoy's voice interrupts my thoughts, "After Nottingham, I'm sure Voldemort will suspect that you've got a spy in his forces."

I look up to see that he's turned his back to me. "Will you be all right?" I ask.

"I'll be fine," he says after a short pause.

"Some of our people might have been captured at Bristol," I say. "Do you know—"

"I can't help you with prisoners," he says, knowing my intention before I can voice it.

"But… Blaise still hasn't returned. I think he might be with the others."

He turns back around to face me, and that smirk is back on his face. "What, you think I'll risk my neck for the 'friend' who gave me _this?_"

He rips his shirt open, and buttons clatter to the ground. I hiss involuntarily and take a step back. I stare, transfixed, at the long, ugly scar that mars his otherwise perfectly sculpted chest. I remember the twisted scar that ran across Blaise's back. It doesn't look as thick or long as this one—Malfoy's scar seems to extend lower, under the part of the shirt that he hasn't ripped apart.

"Yours… it looks worse than his."

I start walking toward him, and his eyes burn into me, watching my movements.

"Granger, what are you doing?"

I don't answer, just maintain my pace until I'm right in front of him. I look into his eyes again, wondering just how much it must have hurt to have a gash like this one inflicted upon him by his best friend.

I look back down at his chest, studying the way that his flesh grew back together and healed. Suddenly, I have a desire to heal the emotional pain that this wound left behind. His right hand begins to lift up, and I instinctively grab his wrist, holding his hand in place. To my surprise, he doesn't resist or shy away from the contact.

Slowly, I reach out my right hand and lightly brush the top of his scar. He takes a sharp breath, and my hand jerks back automatically. I can't have hurt him—physically, this scar healed years ago. I glance back up, hoping to see those silver eyes, but they're closed.

For some reason, I'm fascinated. I want to push him, see what he'll let me do to him before he reverts to calling me a filthy Mudblood. I want to know more about this new, civil Malfoy. Then maybe he won't seem as intimidating.

I trace his scar, feeling the rough, bumpy texture beneath my fingers. He shudders just slightly, and a thrill courses through me. Then his left hand wraps around my wrist, preventing me from moving any farther along the scar.

I glance up at him and watch as he swallows. I've never had this effect on him before, have I? He's clearly strongly influenced by me, at least right now. Surely, if the rumors at Hogwarts are to be believed, a girl has touched his chest before. What makes me so different?

No! My mind shies away from the possibility before I can think it.

"Malfoy," I say quietly, trying to get him to open his eyes. I want to see them, use them to get a clue to his thoughts or emotions.

When he finally opens his eyes, I sense nothing. He's closing himself off, hiding from me.

"Don't touch me," he says.

He drops my hand and backs away, and I hide my disappointment. He turns around and uses a spell to fix his shirt. He stands with his back to me for a while, and I wonder what he'll say. I want him to react to what just happened. He clearly felt _something_ when I touched him.

Why do I care? I should leave him alone—he's _Malfoy_.

After a while, I decide that he won't speak. Maybe he isn't comfortable talking about it. I won't press him, not until he's willing to talk about it on his own. I might scare him away.

I remember the reason why I'm here. Alicia, Lee, and Blaise could be locked up somewhere, and I can't do anything about it. I need to know more about Death Eater prisons if we're going to have a chance of rescuing them. And that's if they're still alive. What if they're dead already?

"Malfoy, please. Help me."

Slowly, he turns around, but he still isn't looking at me. Have I hurt or offended him in any way? I don't understand why he would have this sort of reaction.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks.

"I don't know," I say. "I just… we need information on the Death Eater camps. Where do you keep prisoners?"

"The only person who knows all of the layouts himself is Voldemort," he says, shaking his head. "Everyone else only knows one or two. I haven't ever been to the camp in Bristol."

"Then…"

He sighs, and I expect him to tell me off for bothering him about this, but he surprises me by beginning to list details.

"They're usually underground, with the entrance guarded by a group of eight men. They're not the best fighters—that's why we need so many of them. There are always eight men, at every hour of the day, because they switch on and off duty in pairs of two, with usually twelve men in the rotation. But the location of the prison is different for each camp."

As he finishes, he looks up at my face and immediately turns away. I bite my lip. Did I ruin my chance for friendship with him or something? I don't understand his actions. I note that he's pacing back and forth, toward and away from me.

Then he's speaking again. "Once underground, they all look pretty much the same. The cells can only be opened by someone bearing the Dark Mark or Voldemort himself."

I frown. "It sounds nearly impossible to free anyone, then."

"Like I said, I can't really help you with it," he says, stopping his pacing.

"If you really can't, there's not much left to do about it, I guess. I'm just… really worried."

"I know."

He doesn't speak, and again I'm curious about what he's thinking. I hate being unable to understand anything, whether it's a book or a person, and Malfoy is frustrating me.

Then I remember the other thing I wanted to ask him about. "Malfoy, is there any way that I can use this—" I pull out the golden heart that he gave me "—to contact you?"

He frowns and begins to ask, "Why—"

"In case of an emergency."

He's silent for a moment, and I begin to wonder if he won't let me contact him.

"Sure," he says eventually. "First, close your fist around it."

I nod and wrap my fist around the small trinket.

"Close your eyes."

I narrow my eyes. The last time those three words came out of his mouth, we ended up snogging passionately. I feel my cheeks heating up as I close my eyes.

"Concentrate very hard on what you want to show up on my charm," he instructs me. "You have to make sure it'll fit all right, or I'll have a hard time reading it."

All I have to do is concentrate? Is it really that simple? I recall the initials that are still engraved on my heart and decide to do the same with his. DM. I release the charm and open my eyes, wondering if it worked. I see him looking at the back of his serpent charm. Then his eyes meet mine.

"What did you mean by it?" I ask him as I walk toward him. I hold up my heart charm, showing him my initials.

"Didn't mean anything," he says, shaking his head.

That's bullshit, it must have meant _something_.

"Just reminding you that it was there," he finishes.

"Really?" I say doubtfully.

"What else could it mean?"

I… don't know. But I'm beginning to have a lurking suspicion that Malfoy's struggling with himself about something that he can't really control.

I think back to the night when I was released from Hogwarts and wonder if this has anything to do with it. Maybe Voldemort has assigned Malfoy a mission that will eventually require me inside the Order, and that's why a Death Eater ensured my escape.

I push the possibility to the back of my mind—there's no proof of that, so I'll just be careful and make sure that I don't give up anything that could help the Death Eaters.

"Did you have anything to tell me when you scheduled our meeting?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says. "I was actually going to tell you something more about the traitor. Finnegan… he was murdered."

My eyes drop to the floor, but I suppose this wasn't unexpected. "It was that, or he'd been caught."

"I think your traitor sold him out to us, because Voldemort knew where to find him ahead of time."

"All right. At least we know what happened to him," I say. "Do you have any idea who killed him?"

Malfoy shakes his head and says, "You can go now."

I watch him, unwilling to leave just yet. I still don't know much about him, and I honestly don't know when I'll see him again. I really, _really_ want to figure him out. What's he hiding behind those steel-grey eyes? Beneath those perfect, white-blond locks? Under that cool, calculated expression?

I'll see what happens if I ask him for a favor.

"Malfoy, we captured Thorfinn Rowle two days ago," I say.

He chuckles. "Serves him right. Bumbling idiot, he was."

"Well, bumbling idiot he may be, but he won't crack under questioning. Is there any way—"

"Legilimency," he says, answering me before I finish asking my question. "He's a god-awful Occlumens. Can't defend his mind to save his life."

"We erm… we don't have a good Legilimens," I say.

"Where'd Shacklebolt go?"

"He's out of the country."

"I see," he says. "I thought you'd be pretty good. I heard you had a bit of practice with Occlumency."

Here I go, asking for Malfoy's help.

"Can I…" I begin, but when I look up at his eyes, my voice fails me. What's wrong with me?

"What?" he says, frowning.

Am I really that scared that he'll say no? It's just a test!

"Can I practice on you?" I ask.

He looks surprised, and I'm relieved when he doesn't reject me right away. "What?" he repeats.

"It's just… I haven't ever practiced on anyone with any skill in Occlumency," I say. "Harry learned a little, but he's no good at it, and I—"

"Granger, don't worry," he says, shaking his head. "Potter's better than Rowle at Occlumency. You'll be able to get into his head just fine."

"But I just want—"

"You're not getting into my head, Granger," he says, shaking his head again.

I frown. Is he really as good as everyone says he is? I point my wand at him.

"Legilimens!"

There seems to be a steel wall around his mind. I can't find anything to hold onto, any crevice or crack that I can slip through. He has no weak spots, just a smooth, thick wall that prevents me from penetrating his mind. I throw myself at the barrier several times, but it doesn't do any good.

I can't get through.

"You really _are_ a very skilled Occlumens," I concede.

"Obviously," he says with a grin. "Otherwise, would I dare cross the Dark Lord?"

I sigh. "Well, I'll be interrogating Rowle in two days. I'm busy brewing a plethora of potions at the moment, and I can't be gone from headquarters for more than an hour at a time."

It's a pain in the arse, really.

"Go on back, then," he says. "You've already been here a while."

"Yes, I should go," I say, nodding.

Still that reluctance to leave makes me walk past him, slowly. When I'm behind him, I spin around to make sure he's not watching me. Then I quickly cast a nonverbal Disillusionment Charm on myself and Apparate to the other side of the room.

Obviously, he thinks I'm gone—he sighs heavily and moves to the couch to sit.

I blush when I see him on the couch. It reminds me of the dream that I'd had about him. I shiver as the scenes begin to replay in my head and force my attention back to the present.

Is it that much of a burden for him to meet with me? Why does he look so… so _relieved_ that I'm gone? And yet, there's something other than relief on his face, something that I don't quite recognize. No, it's not concern—it's not the same expression that I saw last time.

I look down at my heart charm and hold it tightly in my fist, closing my eyes. I know it's wrong to spy on people like this, but I really want to get into Malfoy's head. I'm not sure why it's so important to me. He's just Malfoy. Understanding him shouldn't be a priority to me. Yet I'm still here, hidden, waiting to see his reaction when I've placed two words—"thank you"—on his charm.

I replace the charm under my shirt and look at him to see that he's staring at the charm, unblinking. I see the slightest hint of a smile beginning to form on his lips, but before I can be sure that I didn't imagine it, his face becomes just as impassive as before. His eyes remain locked on the back of the charm.

Does it mean a lot to him that I've thanked him? If so… _why_ does it matter to him?

Then he covers up the back of his charm with a finger and closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the couch. I wish I could see into his head, wish that I could penetrate those impossibly thick walls that he surrounded his mind with.

I know that understanding people isn't nearly as easy as solving a riddle or deciphering Ancient Runes, but please, Malfoy, give me a sign, a hint. Anything.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This might be the longest chapter I've done for this story. It just didn't feel right to split the scene up, especially since you guys already got the plot from Draco. It's probably still shorter than the shortest chapter of _Vengeance_ though, come to think of it.

Anyway, all good things must come to an end, and now I've gotta get back to that awful homework. Wish me luck!


	26. Chapter 26 D

**Author's Note:** I had a very relaxing, fun time in SF today! And I was in a very good mood when I got back (despite having to finish up a problem or two for stats) so I decided to post a new chapter! Hope you guys like it.

**Chapter 26**

It's been two days since I last saw Granger in person. I've been watching her sleep for ten minutes a night, rationalizing it by saying that if I see her, then I won't think about her as much during the day. But it's just an excuse—I think about her whether or not I see her face.

I take another swig of Firewhiskey and look into the fireplace glumly.

Today was a long day. Voldemort decided that he wanted to see me use his new curse against some prisoners. It's not entirely new; it's really just a modification of the Cruciatus Curse. He hasn't thought up a good name for it yet, but the incantation is Crucio Locus, and the spell concentrates all of the pain brought on by the Cruciatus Curse into one location of the caster's choice on the victim's body. I can't even _begin_ to imagine how much it must hurt.

I can still hear the screams.

The flames in the fireplace crackle loudly, and I notice that Theo's head is in the fire.

"Draco, are you at your place again? I'm blocked off again."

"Yes, I am. Did you need something?"

"Not really. Just a bit of nerves, actually," he says.

I frown. "Nerves? Do you have a new job, then?"

"Yes. We're going to kill two birds with one stone."

"What are you going to do?"

"We're going to rescue Rowle."

Immediately I start to worry. Rowle was captured by the Order. If Theo and the others are "killing two birds with one stone", then it's not hard to guess what the other "bird" is. Voldemort must want to catch the person who's receiving information from about the Death Eaters so that he can find the traitor—me.

"When?" I ask.

"I'm leaving in a few minutes."

"Who's going?" I ask.

"Dolohov, Travers, Crabbe Sr. and Goyle Sr.," he replies. "I'm surprised that he ordered me to go, instead of you."

Does he suspect me?

"It's probably because I'm working on something else at the moment," I reply.

And it's true. He seemed unsatisfied with the effect that his spell had on the prisoners today, and I'm supposed to be working on a new group tomorrow morning.

"Hmm yeah, you're probably right," Theo says.

"So, what exactly are you doing? I could give you a few tips, if you're nervous."

He gives me a grateful smile. "All I've really got to do is catch the Mudblood. The others will do the bulk of the fighting."

I almost lose my ability to speak, but I force my voice out anyway. "Mudblood? Not Mudblood Granger?" I ask.

"The one and only," he says.

Bloody _fucking_ hell! She's going to be there tonight—she might be there even now. Fuck!

"Why do you have to capture her specifically?" I ask, playing dumb—if I look like I already know, it'll throw suspicion on me.

"Well, you heard about what happened to your aunt's forces at Nottingham, didn't you?" he asks. "I reckon we've got a traitor. The Dark Lord thinks that the Mudblood will know who it is."

I frown. "How does he know that she knows?"

Theo shrugs. "How should _I_ know?"

Then I hear a bang on the other side, and he frowns, looking behind him.

"What's going on?" I ask him.

"I have to go. They're calling me. Thanks for talking to me, Draco."

I shake my head. "No problem, mate," I respond distractedly.

His face leaves the fire, and I get up, pacing worriedly. I pull the charm out from beneath my shirt and close my fist around it. She can't go. She _can't_ be captured.

I don't even know where Rowle is being imprisoned. I can't go to help. I can't do anything.

I'm helpless.

Don't go, don't go, _don't go_.

My mind turns restlessly, wishing I could do more than simply alert her to danger. I storm into the bathroom, grab the stone basin, and return to the living room, where I drop the basin on the coffee table.

A moment later, I'm watching as she speaks to Rowle.

Why is no one else in the room? Did they leave her alone with Rowle? She seems completely normal, and I wonder if she checked her charm. I wrap my hand around my own charm again, focusing on a new word—_DANGER_. I keep my eyes open, refusing to take my eyes off her, so it takes a moment before the words are transferred over.

Her reaction to the burn is a hardly noticeable flinch. I watch as she turns her back to Rowle, saying something that I can't hear. Lupin opens a door and enters the room, and Granger says something to him before exiting the room and shutting the door behind her.

This outer room is empty.

Fuck, are there seriously only the two of them? They'll be no match for Dolohov, Travers, Theo, and Greg and Vince's fathers.

She pulls out the charm and reads the back. There's a confused expression on her face, but then she looks up, startled, and I notice that two hooded figures have entered the room. She seems to recognize Dolohov's mask, backing away from him hurriedly and firing curses at both intruders.

Theo enters the room, ropes firing from the end of his wand as he moves toward her. Dolohov and Crabbe Sr. have already entered the other room. Granger tries to Stun Theo, but he leaps to the side, and Goyle Sr. is struck instead. She evades the ropes and makes a run for the door, but Theo conjures a wall of fire, blocking it. Travers attempts to Disarm her, but the spell backfires, and he has to dodge to the side to avoid being hit.

Well, at least I know that the charm works.

I watch anxiously, gripping both sides of the water basin tightly, as she duels both Travers and Theo. Most spells are deflected or absorbed before they reach her, but I can tell that the power of the charm is wearing down. Fuck… where is Lupin? He _has_ to get Granger out of there!

The door leading to the other fight is thrown open, and Rowle emerges. Damn it, that means Lupin is losing. Rowle joins in the fight against Granger, and her brows furrow in concentration as she fires curse after curse at her attackers—she seems to have realized that their spells can't reach her and is taking full advantage of that fact.

Then a Stunning Spell whizzes past her head and hits the wall behind her, making a small crack. Shit! The charm must have reached its limit. She maintains a Shield Charm around herself and attempts to edge toward the exit, only occasionally firing spells at the three Death Eaters.

Oh fuck, I can't watch this.

But I can't tear my eyes away from the image on the water.

Then the door to the adjoining room bangs open again, and Dolohov emerges with a bound and unconscious Remus Lupin levitating just behind him. Granger spares only a moment for shock before continuing toward the exit.

Dolohov barks something at her and points his wand at the unconscious werewolf, and Granger seems to hesitate, shouting something back at him. When he starts to say something else, she drops her wand to the ground.

"No!" I shout to my empty living room. "Fucking hell, Granger, _no!_"

Furious, I hurl the stone basin against the far wall. It collides loudly and falls to the ground, water splashing all over the hardwood floor.

Then I'm on my feet, pacing back and forth madly.

Where will they take her? Straight to Voldemort, I expect. After all, he's capturing her for the sake of finding out who has betrayed him. Fuck! I don't even care about being discovered—at this point, I would do anything to switch places with her. I'm still scared as hell of being the focus of the Dark Lord's wrath, but the mere _thought_ of Granger being tortured…

I know I was attracted to, interested in, and perhaps even infatuated with Granger, but this… this feeling… it's indescribable.

Bloody hell.

I _have_ to free her, even if it kills me.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Crucio Locus was a spell I made up; "locus" is latin for "place" or "location", at least according to what I found on the internet.

So, I have a question for you guys: a few readers have told me in the reviews that they don't like the repeated scenes from different perspectives, and while I personally prefer the way that I've written the story so far (because it feels more complete to me like this), I just want to have some more feedback from you guys about this. Would it be better if I alternated perspectives (ex: one conversation in Draco's perspective, the next in Hermione's), or should I keep it the way it is now?

I have to be honest though. Since I _do_ have the last say in how I write my story, I might keep it the way it is. But I really do want to know what you guys think, because my readers' opinions matter to me. So I'd appreciate it if you left me a review telling me which you prefer.


	27. Chapter 27 H

**Author's Note:** So I was originally going to reply to the reviews for the last chapter as they came in, but a lot more of you answered my question than I expected (THANK YOU, by the way! I love reading reviews!), and I unfortunately don't have time to go through and write out a reply to every single review. If you don't really care about the perspectives thing, you can skip straight to the chapter. I'm just putting this here because I want you guys to know why I'm doing what I'm doing.

A little over half of the reviews tell me to keep writing in the same way, and the rest say otherwise.

I've had a few different suggestions, but the two main ones are combining perspectives into the same chapter, and alternating perspectives between scenes. In my opinion, the first suggestion won't work so well for this story, because it's way too late to change the story from first person to third person at this point, and I'm pretty sure it'll be confusing having the personal pronoun "I" switch to refer to a different person halfway through a chapter. So that one's out.

The second suggestion is more doable, but I'll probably have to have the character whose perspective we didn't see think back and sum up how he/she felt. The issue that I have with summarizing conversations afterwards is that what I feel completes my story is the main characters' immediate reactions to actions and conversations, and in retrospect, those specific responses will most likely be gone (I mean, you usually don't replay every comment in a conversation in your head and remember the way you felt about it).

That said, I know that it can be tiring to reread every conversation between the two of them, so I'll find time to go back through the chapters that I haven't posted yet and make some changes. I'll keep both perspectives for the conversations that I feel are more important, but I'll cut the ones that don't really contribute to plot or character development.

Whew! This author's note turned out to be way, way longer than I intended it to be. If you just spent forever reading this, I'm really sorry! I just wanted to let you guys in a little on why I'm choosing to write this story the way I am.

And for those of you who don't like the chapters that don't introduce new material to the plot, this chapter doesn't have anything "new" in it, so I'll post another one later tonight (maybe in a few hours) to make up for it.

**Chapter 27**

I sit down in a chair across the table from Rowle.

"I'll be right outside, Hermione," Lupin says, backing out of the room.

I still don't quite understand why they've decided on a private interrogation, but I suppose that having no audience will indeed help me focus on penetrating Rowle's mind.

First, I decide to give him a chance.

"Rowle, do you know why you are here?" I ask him.

"Yeah, yeah," he says, bored.

He's bound to a chair, unable to do anything to threaten me. Instead of fear at being alone in a room with a Death Eater, I feel only revulsion. I overheard from Tonks and Lupin's conversation that this man didn't hesitate to kill women and children, as long as their blood status was challenged. While that probably holds true for most of the Death Eaters, being so close to one, unmasked, makes me feel disgusted.

"So, what are you going to do to me, Mudblood?"

"You can call me whatever you like," I say nonchalantly. "I'm going to give you a chance. Do you know which member has betrayed the Order?"

"Oh, you'd like to know that, wouldn't you?" he says, grinning maliciously.

Why isn't he afraid? He's completely in my power. I can do anything to him without restraint. There's no reason for him not to be afraid.

"If you're not straight with me, I'll have to use Legilimency on you," I say.

I don't like invading others' minds. In my book, it isn't much better than torturing someone for information because it's a _serious_ violation of privacy. I know that in desperate times, we must resort to desperate measures, but still…

"Oh, go ahead. I don't see any harm in letting you know the truth, after tonight."

I narrow my eyes. After tonight? What can he possibly mean?

As soon as I get eye contact with him, I delve into his mind. Malfoy was right—Rowle's barriers seem to crumble with just the slightest bit of effort on my part, and soon I'm rushing into his memories. At the thought of Malfoy, the charm begins to burn my chest, but I don't have time to check it.

I focus on Voldemort, trying to go for the most recent memory.

I find myself in a dark room, looking at the back of a tall armchair. On either side of Rowle stand Dolohov, Mulciber, Crabbe Sr., and Malfoy Sr. Voldemort is giving orders in a quiet hiss.

I flip back a bit further and find a memory of Rowle, watching that same room from a slit in the door. He sees the back of a short man, with bandy legs and little hair on his head.

No…

Mundungus Fletcher.

Shacklebolt had assured us that he would be the best man for amassing information about the Death Eaters because he was a criminal. We'd believed him because that despite his cowardice, he _did_ have a way about skulking through the underground, making trades and gaining useful tidbits of information along the way.

But now, it makes sense.

He was the one who had gotten the numbers wrong on the night of the ambush at the Leaky Cauldron. He'd given us the location of the Death Eater camp near Bristol. And he didn't have any idea about our planned defense of Nottingham because it had been so short-notice. The only thing that remains to be checked is whether or not he knew about Seamus's mission.

I withdraw from Rowle's mind and see a smug expression on his face.

"Mundungus Fletcher," I say aloud.

"Mundungus Fletcher, indeed," he says, nodding.

The charm burns my chest again, and I get to my feet.

"Well, we have what we want. Now, all that's to be decided is your fate," I say. Then I raise my voice and call for Lupin.

He enters the room a moment later.

"The spy is Mundungus," I tell him.

"Are you certain?" he asks.

I nod. "I have to go outside for a moment."

He takes my seat, and I leave the room, pulling the door closed behind me. As soon as I'm alone outside, I pull the charm out to look at it. Only one word shows, in all capital letters: DANGER. What the…?

Then the door is thrown open, and two Death Eaters enter the room. I immediately note that one of them is Dolohov and back up to the opposite end of the room, throwing Stunning Spells at both of them, but they both disappear into the inner room where Lupin and Rowle are.

A third Death Eater points his wand at me, and ropes issue from the tip. I sidestep the swirling tendrils and send another Stunning Spell at him. I miss him, instead striking a fourth Death Eater just inside the doorway. I race toward the door, but the third Death Eater throws up a wall of fire, blocking my path to the exit. A Disarming Charm comes at me from a fifth Death Eater, but before I can react, the jet of light rebounds and shoots back in his direction.

Yet again, I'm repelling spells. What's going on?

I block most of the hexes coming at me but let one through, and it rebounds again. Growing more confident in this strange blessing, I shift to a more offensive position, stepping forward toward them and alternating my attacks between the two of them. I advance on them, and eventually I can see past the wall of fire toward the exit.

Then the door opens, and Rowle comes into the room. I gasp—Dolohov and the other Death Eater must have freed him. He joins his comrades, and I realize that _this_ must have been the reason why he wasn't worried about letting me find out the truth. This was a set-up. He'd _known_ that his friends were coming to rescue him!

Infuriated, I work faster, trying to fight my way out so that I'll be able to Disapparate. We'd placed Disapparition Jinxes on this building as a precaution—I'd never imagined that I would have to fight my way out before.

A Stunning Spell whizzes past my head, uncomfortably close to my ear, and I realize that I might be pushing my luck, and whatever force is keeping me safe may very well be draining away due to the onslaught of attacks. I give up trying to get past the fire and change to a more defensive position, only attacking occasionally.

Then I point my wand at the wall of fire and shout, "Aguamenti!"

The water washes away part of the wall, but a hex hits my Shield Charm, and I have to block several more hexes. When I get another look, the fire is back in place.

I hear a loud bang as the door opens yet again, but I can't spare a look at the moment—the three Death Eaters attacking me are keeping me very preoccupied. That is, until I hear Dolohov's voice.

"Stop resisting, Mudblood, or I'll kill your friend!"

I continue to block the hexes that are coming my way, but they have slowed down. Only one of the three Death Eaters with whom I was dueling is still attacking me. With a signal from Dolohov, he stops as well. I see that Lupin is unconscious, tightly tied up with ropes, and floating several feet above the ground.

"No," I say, glaring at Dolohov.

"As you wish," he replies, his wand pointed at Lupin.

It's not an empty threat, and I know it. Damn it, I can't let him die like this. My wand clatters to the floor uselessly, and immediately one of the Death Eaters Summons it to him.

Dolohov points his wand at me, and I flinch instinctively.

I realize that the charm is still around my neck, outside of my clothing now. I grip it tightly in my fist and close my eyes, thinking furiously of only one word. _Mundungus_.

Then I'm thrown backwards by a spell and collide painfully with the wall behind me.

Are they going to kill me?

* * *

**Author's Note:** Chapter 28 coming soon!


	28. Chapter 28 H

**Author's Note:** As promised, here's the next chapter!

**Chapter 28**

It's cold.

I slowly become aware of something that is restraining my wrists, holding them high up above my head. Something cold and hard.

Chains?

Oh, _no_.

The last thing I can recall is surrendering to Dolohov and several other Death Eaters… I can't even remember how many there were. Four or five, including Dolohov?

I don't want to open my eyes, don't want to know where I am.

I move my legs, placing my weight on them to take some stress off my wrists, and realize that there are cuffs around my ankles as well. How did I get into this mess?

Then I hear a male voice that I recognize but can't quite place.

"That Granger is… there's something odd about her," he says. "When we were fighting her, our attacks kept changing direction or simply dissolving whenever they went anywhere _near_ her. It's unnerving."

The response comes from a very familiar voice—that of Lucius Malfoy.

"Yes, I heard from Bellatrix that even Dolohov's signature curse had no effect on her. Of course, I'm hardly willing to believe it unless I see it myself."

"Well, here is her cell," the familiar voice says.

Then I realize whose voice it is: Theodore Nott. I thought he'd died! Blaise hadn't been sure when we asked, but after so long, we'd all assumed that he was long gone.

I hear the click of a lock and a loud grating noise as the cell door swings open. I keep my eyes closed. Maybe if I pretend to be unconscious, I can overhear some potentially useful information. Although I'm not sure how that'll help me, at this point. I might as well accept defeat. The odds of getting out of here alive are ninety million to one.

No. I will not give up, no matter what happens.

I open my eyes and see that both men are in Death Eater masks and cloaks.

"Hello, Nott. Malfoy," I say, not allowing fear to show in my voice.

"Well, looks like our dear Mudblood here has an ear for voices," Lucius says, removing his mask. Nott does the same.

I just watch them, waiting for them to start whatever it is they're going to do to me.

"We're not hard to talk to," Lucius says. "If you agree to cooperate, we will allow you to return to the Order."

"Alive?" I say.

He laughs, and the sound sends shivers down my spine. Or maybe I'm just shivering because of the temperature.

"You really _are_ a clever girl."

"Well, what is it that you want from me?" I ask. "Spit it out so that I can reject you, and then we'll get this show on the road."

Nott chuckles. "So impatient, Granger."

"It's simple," Lucius says. "We're merely asking whether or not you want to cooperate with us."

"I'm surprised you have to ask."

"We're just checking to see if you've gotten any smarter in all this time," Lucius says.

"Make your choice," Nott says.

"You two aren't very convincing," I say.

Then another Death Eater enters the room. "Nott, you're needed up top. I'll take over here."

Lucius turns and nods to acknowledge the newcomer. "Mulciber," he says as Nott leaves the room.

"Malfoy," Mulciber replies. He turns to look at me and smiles menacingly. "Well, well, well, she's finally here. The Dark Lord will be pleased."

He takes a few steps toward me, and I steel myself for whatever might be coming.

"So, Mudblood, I hear that you're somehow _invincible_ to our spells. Tell me, how do you manage it?" he asks.

"I don't know," I say.

And it's the truth. I discussed it with McGonagall, and then Lupin, but neither had any idea of what it could be. I haven't been doing anything differently, so I really don't see why I've been protected.

"Do you think she's telling the truth, Malfoy?"

"I doubt it. That Mudblood has always been clever," Lucius replies.

"Well, let's see if there are any hints on her body, shall we?" Mulciber says with an evil grin.

He steps closer and reaches out to unzip my sweater.

Oh God, no.

Lucius moves to the side for a better viewing angle, and I find myself quivering in fear. Mulciber looks up at my chained wrists and frowns.

"That's inconvenient, isn't it?" he comments.

He draws his wand and flicks it once to Vanish my sweater.

"Would you like to tell us how you're doing it?"

"I _don't_ _know_," I repeat.

"All right, then, let's try a different question. Which Death Eater has betrayed the Dark Lord?"

I don't answer, and he flicks his wand again, this time taking away my shirt. I shiver as the cold hits my exposed skin.

"Honestly, I'll enjoy it much more if you don't answer my questions, and we continue on like this," he says, leaning toward me.

I fix an angry stare on his face and spit at him. He points his wand at his shirt to remove the spittle and glares at me.

"You'll regret that, Mudblood."

With another flick of his wand, the rest of my clothing disappears, and I struggle vainly against my bonds, my body laid bare before these two evil men.

Mulciber is fumbling with his belt, and a wave of nausea comes over me.

"No…" I say, shaking my head.

He's sliding down the zipper on his pants when he pauses, looking at my chest.

My eyes are welling up, but though I'm shaking in fear, I blink furiously, trying to blink away the tears. I will _not_ cry in front of these two monsters.

His fingers brush against my breast, and I try to pull away to no avail. But the contact is very short, and I realize that he's picked up the small charm around my neck.

"I thought I Vanished everything you wore, Mudblood," he says. "What is this?"

"Does it matter?" Lucius says, cutting me off before I can reply. "It's a trinket, nothing more."

"Quiet, Malfoy. If it resisted the Vanishing Spell, then it might be the thing that is protecting her," Mulciber growls. He turns his attention to me. "Where did you get this?"

I only glare at him.

He tries to tug the charm off, but the chain won't break, and he only succeeds in pulling my head forward. Frowning, he rotates the necklace, looking for the clasp, only to find that there is none.

I'm as shocked as he is. I clearly remember Malfoy putting the necklace around my neck.

He slides the charm over my head, but as soon as he does, it Vanishes from between his fingers and reappears around my neck. If I weren't so terrified—not to mention exposed, I would laugh at the bewildered expression on his face.

"Sod it," he mutters, stepping back over to me and lowering the zipper of his pants.

Oh, fuck. _Please_, no. This can't be happening.

I squeeze my eyes shut and plead in my mind for someone to come save me.

His rough hands pry my thighs apart, and I try to close them, but he's too strong. I let out a furious scream and try harder.

Then there's a strangled cry, and I open my eyes to see that Mulciber has backed a few steps away and fallen to his knees, bent over.

"Mulciber, what the hell?" Lucius says, alarmed.

"Fuck," Mulciber groans, a hand over his stomach. "It's that gold heart, I tell you. That heart—we have to get rid of it!"

Lucius helps his comrade to his feet.

"It was glowing—I saw it!"

Lucius only shakes his head, something akin to disgust on his features as he helps Mulciber out of the room.

A moment later, two more Death Eaters enter, both with masks on. I don't recognize either mask, and they don't speak to me. The taller one holds up a whip, the other a broadsword.

"Bring it on," I growl at them.

The tall man swings the whip at me, but it soundlessly hits an invisible barrier in front of me, and I'm surprised that there's no pain. It doesn't reach me. Am I protected from all attacks then?

I glance down at the charm that's still hanging between my naked breasts and see the two letters still engraved there—HG. Is this little golden heart really the reason why I've been untouched by attacks in the past few fights? If it is, then it means that Malfoy… that Malfoy is protecting me?

The shorter man swings the broadsword down, aiming at my shoulder, but the blade glances to the side and off the mark. Furious, he tries again, cutting sideways, but the sword swings downward and hits the ground by my foot. He gives a roar and tries again, attempting to shove the sword into my gut.

When the sword is within a foot of me, it slows to a stop, but I can tell from the way that the man's arms are bulging that he is attempting to shove the blade farther. He tries to pull it back, but it won't budge, and his eyes widen.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" his comrade barks.

The short man releases the handle, and the sword stays in place for a moment, floating on its own, before clattering to the ground.

"There's some sort of strange magic going on here," the short man says.

The tall man tries his whip on me several times, but the weapon never reaches me.

The two Death Eaters exchange looks before exiting the room.

One of them pauses in the doorway, and I look up at him.

"Don't think we're finished with you, Mudblood filth," he says. "We'll be back."

I glare at him. "I'll be waiting, then."

The door swings closed, and I hear their footsteps fade as they walk away.

I wonder how soon they'll find a way to remove the heart charm. And is it _really_ the only thing that's protecting me? I can't imagine why Malfoy would _ever_… and how could he possibly have come across something powerful enough to counter Dolohov's curse?

My body shakes in the aftershock of almost being raped and tortured—I can't believe my luck.

"Hermione?"

The voice that drifts in from the neighboring cell is much, much weaker than I'm used to, but I recognize it all the same.

"Blaise?" I call back.

"Fuck, it's really you."

"Blaise, oh my god! Are you all right? You sound awful."

"Thanks, Hermione. You really know how to make a guy feel better about himself."

I can't believe it. He has time for jokes, even in _this_ situation. "Blaise, I'm not kidding," I say.

"Yeah, I know that. How'd they catch you?"

I sigh. "We were betrayed by Mundungus Fletcher."

"I always knew he was a sketchy guy, but I didn't think he'd have the balls to actually do it… Does anyone else in the Order know about it?"

"I don't know."

"Sounds pretty bad. Did anyone else get caught with you?"

"They subdued Lupin, but I don't know what happened to him afterward," I say softly. I fervently hope that he's all right. "Have you seen Lee or Alicia?"

"Not a sign of them. The Death Eaters haven't said a word about them. I asked, too."

"What do they want from you?"

"Compliance, another spy on the inside, nothing unexpected," Blaise replies.

After a short while, I ask, "What do you think the odds are of us escaping?"

"Honestly? Maybe one in a million."

"At least we have each other," I say quietly.

"Yeah," he agrees.

I stare at the ground of my cell and wish I had even a stitch of clothing to cover myself with. My arms ache from being held above my head for an extended amount of time, and my wrists are bruised by the shackles holding them in place.

I hope Malfoy got my message…

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm having some trouble with the newer parts that I'm writing, mostly because I don't have good chunks of time to just sit down and write, so it's all done in snippets. I'll still be able to post a few chapters before running out of usable material. I'll try not to keep you guys waiting long.

Thanks for reading!


	29. Chapter 29 D

**Author's Note:** Happy Fourth of July! (: Of course, it doesn't really mean much to people outside the States, but I've decided that Independence Day calls for another new chapter! So here it is.

**Chapter 29**

This is a fucking suicide mission, showing up here. I'm clearly out of my mind.

I raise my fist to knock again, and the door swings open.

"M—Malfoy," Potter says, surprised. His wand is pointed right at my face. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to tell you that Granger found out who's betraying the Order. Now either put that wand away and let me in, or attack me, and I'll get the hell out of here."

He frowns. "What's happened to Hermione?"

"That wasn't one of the choices, Potter."

He backs up to give me room to enter but doesn't lower his wand. Fair enough. After all, I haven't given him reason to trust me. I enter the room, and he closes the door.

"Bloody hell, what's Malfoy doing here?" I hear from the stairs. I glance over to see that the weasel is standing halfway up the steps, glaring at me.

"I don't have time for this," I say. "Granger discovered the identity of your traitor. If I'm not mistaken, he'll probably be coming here soon with the news that she and Lupin were ambushed while interrogating Rowle. By that time, I want to be long gone."

"Who is it?" Potter asks.

"Mundungus Fletcher."

"Dung?" Ron says. "No, he wouldn't."

"He doesn't know that I've turned to work for the Order, does he?" I say.

Potter shakes his head. "No, we didn't talk to anyone who wasn't in our meeting that day… and I'm pretty certain that he hadn't gotten there yet."

"Perfect. I don't want him running off to Voldemort telling stories about me."

"How can you be sure that it's Dung?" Weasley asks, reaching the bottom of the steps.

He's drawn his wand and has it pointed at me, but I only shake my head at him.

"You're just going to have to trust me," I say. "Granger and Lupin have been taken by the Death Eaters, and I'll do my best to get them out. No guarantees."

"How do we know that you didn't help the Death Eaters catch them?" Weasley demands, stepping closer so that he can jab his wand into my chest.

"Would I be here if I wanted the Death Eaters to win?" I counter.

"Malfoy, we can't simply accept your word as reality. This could all be an elaborate—" Potter begins.

I throw my hands up, frustrated. Fuck it. Apparently it doesn't matter to me anymore whether I live or die, so what's the point in keeping secrets? I reach under my shirt and pull out the serpent charm.

"What's that?" Weasley asks.

"This is how Granger and I communicate. Don't ask me how it works," I say, speaking quickly to save time. "Two days ago, she told me that she was going to be interrogating Thorfinn Rowle tonight. I heard from some other Death Eaters about an hour ago that they were setting up a trap for Granger when she went to interrogate Rowle. I tried to warn her, but it was too late."

"How… how did you know it was too late?" Potter asks.

"I heard from my Death Eater friend that he'd succeeded," I reply.

Then I turn my charm around to show them the word that had appeared only moments after I hurled my stone basin against the wall: _Mundungus_.

"That's the last thing I got from her."

"Are you sure she meant that he is the traitor?" Weasley asks.

"Yes," I reply impatiently. "Now I really ought to be going. If and when Mundungus shows his face, subdue him. Contact McGonagall, Shacklebolt, Nymphadora, whoever has authority around here, and explain."

They both look surprised at my request, but Potter nods.

"Good luck, Potter, Weasley," I say, nodding at each in turn.

I prepare to leave, but Potter quickly steps into my path, blocking the exit.

"What are you doing?" I growl at him, aware that Weasley's wand is still pointed at my back.

"Stay," he says. "We'll know whether or not you're lying if Mundungus gets here. If he doesn't, then you're lying, and I can't let you leave."

"You can't make me stay," I say.

"My wand is jabbed into your back, Malfoy," Weasley snarls. "Don't even think about it. You'll be dead before you can try anything."

I slowly turn around to face him, smirking. "Really? Care to give it a try, Weasel?"

"Ron, _don't_," Potter says.

"I could, you know," Weasley says between gritted teeth, his face transitioning into a deep shade of red.

"Then _do it_," I say, trying to goad him into action. If Weasley pounces, that should be enough of a diversion to get Potter out of my way.

"Ron, he's not worth it."

"You know Granger, that Mudblood friend of yours? I've kissed her," I say, wearing an extremely smug expression as Weasley's face gets impossibly redder.

"You've _what?_" he roars.

"Snogged her senseless," I add.

"Ron, no!" Potter shouts.

A shrill shrieking starts up, but above the noise, I hear Ron's loud cry.

"Confringo!"

I grin as Potter rushes over to restrain Weasley's wand arm, but the redhead just stares at me furiously, his wand a useless stick of wood between his fingers.

"Is that all you've got?" I taunt, backing toward the door.

But at that moment, as I'm about to put my hand on the doorknob, there's a knock.

Oh, fuck me. That's gonna be Mundungus. _Fuck_ these two idiots! I spin out of the way of the door and cast a Disillusionment Charm on myself.

"Oi!" Weasley calls out, lunging toward the place where I'd disappeared.

I've already slipped past him to the hallway, halfway to the room where I'd been interrogated during my first visit here.

Potter grabs his friend's arm and shoves him toward an ugly portrait on the wall, and I recognize the occupant of the painting as my great aunt, Walburga Black. Interesting, that the ancient home of the House of Black, one of the largest and oldest racist pure-blood families in Britain, would come to house the Order of the Phoenix, which opposes the elitist views that members of the House of Black would have heartily supported.

The screams quiet down when Weasley tugs the curtains in front of Mrs. Black, and Potter pulls the door open. Sure enough, Mundungus is standing on the doorstep.

Potter asks him a few questions, and then he's permitted to enter.

"What's going on?" Potter asks him, closing the door.

One of the two Weasley twins appears on the steps before Mundungus can reply. He has both ears. But I can't remember for the life of me which one got his ear spliced off by my godfather.

"Hey, Dung! Got anything for me?" he asks.

Mundungus shakes his head. "Bad news. Hermione and Remus…"

"What happened?" Potter asks, and I'm surprised at how well he feigns ignorance.

"They were ambushed by a group of Death Eaters," Mundungus says, shaking his head. "I got away before they noticed me. I don't think they made it out."

The twin looks infuriated. "Why didn't you help them? How many Death Eaters were there?"

"I—I don't know. Looked like a whole swarm of them."

Weasley points his wand at Mundungus. "Do you swear you're telling the truth?"

I note that the short man's eyes are darting between Weasley's wand and the door, and I can tell that he's calculating the likelihood of getting out before being hit by a hex. Before he can do anything, I point my wand at him.

"Incarcerous!"

Thick ropes burst from the tip of my wand, and his arms are bound to his sides. The weasel whips around, pointing his wand in my direction, and I shift a little to the left.

Mundungus's eyes seem to be bulging out of his head. "Who's there?" he gasps.

"Don't you dare tell him," I say.

The Weasley twin has his wand drawn and is pointing it in the direction that my voice came from. "Harry, what's _he_ doing here?"

Ah, so he knows it's me. I move to stand next to Potter and smirk at the sight of the two Weasleys, both pointing their wands at nothing.

"Don't worry, Fred. He came a few minutes before Dung and told us about Hermione and Lupin. And from the looks of it, he wasn't lying," Potter says.

"We haven't proved anything. Who says Dung is the spy?" the weasel says.

Fred Weasley looks angry. "I wouldn't put it past Dung to sell us out," he says.

Mundungus opens his mouth to protest, but Potter Silences him.

"Well, there you go," I say, startling Potter. Both Weasleys turn their heads, looking for me, but they only see Potter. "Twin number one agrees with me. Where's the other one of you, by the way?"

"Thanks to your comrade, he's still bedridden. Won't be able to walk for another week or so."

"Dolohov, I assume," I say.

Twin number one glares at the place where I'm standing, then says to Potter, "What should we do with Dung, then, if Lupin and Shacklebolt aren't here? McGonagall?"

Potter nods. "Yeah. Fred, could you go to the kitchen and Floo her?"

Fred Weasley moves down the rest of the steps and toward the kitchen.

"Ron, take Mundungus into the kitchen," Potter says.

"You got… _him?_" Weasley asks, his wand pointing at me—I haven't moved away from Potter.

I snort. "As if you'd be much help to him, you overgrown weasel."

"Ron, just go," Potter says.

He sounds tired. Weasley levitates Mundungus and takes him away to the kitchen. When the door closes behind him, I lift the Disillusionment Charm on myself.

Potter turns to me. "Can you find a way to free Hermione?"

In any normal situation, I would have played it off. The usual drill. Of course I can, piece of cake, don't you know I'm Draco Malfoy? But tonight, it's different. Granger's life is on the line.

"Honestly? I wasn't lying before. No guarantees," I reply.

"Then—"

"I'm going to try my best. All right, Potter?"

He studies my expression for a moment, and I begin to wonder what he's thinking. Finally, when he's made up his mind, he gives me a small nod. Maybe he's smarter than I've given him credit for.

"If you have any news, any information at all, come back here," he says. "I'll need something that will prove that you're really you. Answers to a few questions, or a password, or—"

"Otter."

"Pardon?"

"Otter," I repeat impatiently. "That's my password. Now I've really got to be going."

Potter nods, and the way he looks at me is slightly unsettling. As I pull the door open, his voice makes me pause.

"Malfoy, you're all right. When you're being cooperative, that is."

I smirk. "Don't get used to it, Potter. It won't last."

I exit the house and Disapparate as soon as I'm on the doorstep.

I appear at my cottage a moment later. I take a deep breath to calm myself—it won't do to fill my head with mindless worry.

What kind of approach should I take?

I briefly consider asking Aunt Bella, but I doubt she'll know much about this—she hardly ever handles matters concerning prisoners, preferring to be out on the field, fighting. Father, on the other hand, has been relegated to interrogations and torture. But I can't ask him about anything. He doesn't speak to me unless it's to reprimand or punish.

No, trying to get information out of Aunt Bella or Father won't do.

I wonder if Granger is important enough for the Dark Lord himself to interrogate—in my fit of anger, I had felt so certain that Voldemort would be torturing her, but when Theo's face showed up in the fireplace to tell me they'd succeeded, he'd told me that they'd dropped her off at a camp. I was sorely tempted to ask him which one, but I held it in; I couldn't look too interested in Granger's fate.

Although Voldemort doesn't usually interrogate prisoners in the regular camps, there's still the possibility that he would make an exception in order to find a traitor—he absolutely loathes spies.

The thought of her writhing in pain under Voldemort's wand is almost unbearable. I have to _do_ something.

My dilemma is that I don't know what to do.


	30. Chapter 30 D

**Author's Note:** I just took a math midterm today, and I figured I could take a break from working. So I decided to take some time out to edit another chapter for you guys! (:

**Chapter 30**

I sigh and sit up—it's about time to return to the Manor.

I've been lying awake on my bed in the bedroom of my cottage, staring at the ceiling and trying to think of some tactic for freeing Granger.

There is _no_ foolproof plan. The only thing I can do seems to be improvisation. I'm not bad at it, but I wish there was some better way of going about this.

I arrive in my room at the Manor and jump, startled.

The Dark Lord himself is standing by the window, facing outward.

"My Lord," I say, dropping to my knees immediately.

"Ah, yes. It's about time you returned," he says calmly, turning around.

I peek up and see that his tranquil tone doesn't match the fury in his red eyes. I stay on my knees, awaiting orders.

"I sent for you, yet you could not be reached. _Why_ is that, might I ask? You weren't on assignment, but you knew that I intended to use you this morning."

I know it's not wise to speak up, but I can't resist pointing out one thing.

"It's not morning yet, My Lord."

"Nevertheless, this is the second time that I have not been able to find you when you were needed. Do you really think that you have earned enough favor with me to disappear whenever you wish?"

His hiss is venomous, and I keep my head bowed.

"I would never do that, My Lord. I live to serve you."

"Be that as it may, it never hurts to have a reminder," he says.

Fuck.

"Summon your house elf."

After nodding my head once, I call out, "Naree!"

The obedient house elf appears instantly and bows deeply.

"You know what to do," Voldemort hisses, turning away from me and stepping back toward the window.

Naree looks at me, his eyes even wider than usual, and shakes his head. "M-M-Master, please."

I lean down to look him in the eye—even sitting back on my feet, I still tower over him. "You know you have to."

Naree produces a small, jagged knife out of thin air and grips the handle tightly, reluctantly stepping closer to me. I close my eyes. I don't want to watch.

I feel his tiny hand lifting up my arm and carefully pulling up the sleeve. He doesn't want to soil my clothing. A thoughtful, if silly, sentiment.

"Sorry, Master," Naree mutters.

The blade slices through my flesh, creating a deep rut, and I hiss sharply, clenching my teeth. Warm, thick liquid runs down my arm.

"Again," I say through gritted teeth.

"But—but—" he begins to protest.

"_Again_," I repeat.

The dagger sinks into my arm again, drawing more blood, and the pain makes me wince. I feel a hot droplet splash onto my arm above the two cuts and open my eyes to see that Naree's large eyes are brimming with tears.

Clenching my jaw against the pain, I manage to give him a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine. Again."

Naree blinks, and another hot tear lands on my arm. He drives the dagger into my arm a third time, and his shoulders begin to shake with silent sobs.

Fuck, this is more torture for Naree than it is for me.

"That's enough," Voldemort says.

I glance up, surprised by how soon he ended it. He has turned away from the window.

"Let your elf tend to your wounds. You should know that I let you off easy this time, Draco. If I cannot find you a third time, the consequences will be far more severe. You are to arrive at the camp in Dartmoor in five minutes. Do not be late."

I nod my head. "Yes, My Lord."

He disappears in a puff of black smoke.

"Naree… Naree _hates_ the Dark Lord," the elf in front of me sniffles a moment later.

"What did I tell you about saying that aloud?" I reprimand him.

He snaps his fingers, and the bleeding stops in all three cuts.

"Handy trick," I say, even though I'm capable of doing the same with a wave of my wand. Letting him take care of me is the best way to make him feel better after hurting me.

I still don't understand the reason why he uses this type of punishment on me. It's supposed to be cruel and humiliating, forcing a man to command his own house elf to punish him. But clearly, by now, Voldemort should know that being stabbed or flogged by Naree doesn't humiliate me in any way.

Naree carefully wraps bandages over the cleaned wounds and pulls my sleeve down to cover them.

"Master mustn't remove the bandages for one day," he says.

"Or else I'll have scars," I finish for him. "I _know_, Naree. You've told me before."

He manages a weak laugh. "Yes, Naree has."

I get to my feet. "Got any Blood Replenishing Potion?" I ask.

"Yes, sir!" Naree says brightly, disappearing with a snap of his fingers. He's back in under five seconds, holding up a bottle.

I smile and take it from him. "Go on, now. It's about time to start making breakfast—the others will be looking for you."

"Yes, Master. Naree hopes Master will stay out of trouble."

"Sure," I say, nodding.

He Disapparates with a loud crack.

I gulp down some of the potion and immediately feel much less dizzy. I set the bottle down and brace myself for what I'll be doing in Dartmoor. Wonder if Voldemort has come up with a new modification.

I wait another minute before Apparating to the Death Eater camp in Dartmoor. I move through the camp and straight to the eight guards. After showing them the Mark, I'm allowed underground.

"You're early," Voldemort says as I enter.

"Better early than late," I reply.

He turns around to face me and scrutinizes me. "I have an interesting new prisoner for you to play with, today."

"Do you really?" I say, showing no emotion.

Before he can reply, I hear my father's voice.

"Draco!" he barks. "What are you—"

His voice fades as Voldemort turns to face him.

"My Lord," he says, immediately falling to his knees.

"Lucius," Voldemort hisses. "You would do well to show Draco some respect. He is a credit to your name. Your greatest contribution to my cause was to provide me a son."

Suddenly it's harder to breathe. What the _fuck_ did I just hear?

When I glance at my father's face, I see that he's staring at the ground, trying to hide his shock with little success. He's clearly thinking along the same lines as I am.

"B—but My Lord, I am your faithful servant. I—" he begins.

"Enough, Lucius. Return to the Manor and await my arrival."

"Yes, My Lord."

Voldemort walks past him, and my father gets to his feet. As he passes by me, there is an emotion that I rarely see on his face: bewilderment.

"Come," Voldemort says when my father is gone.

I follow him silently, still wondering what he meant. _Your greatest contribution… was to provide me a son._ Holy fuck, I don't want to be _his_ son, if that's really what he means. Being the son of the Dark Lord has to be a worse fate than being the son of Lucius Malfoy.

He stops in front of a cell and points his wand at me.

"You should have brought your mask and cloak," he says.

"I apologize."

He flicks his wand, and duplicates of my mask and cloak appear in front of me. I put them on quickly and wait for more instructions, but he turns and continues walking down the corridor. I follow quietly and cast a nonverbal Muffling Charm. Then I voice my request.

"My Lord, I'd like it if you… if you clarified what you meant when you were speaking to my father."

He doesn't respond, and I start to wonder if I'm pressing my luck. But I've already started speaking, and it'd be cowardly to stop now.

"Specifically, I only need to you clear up one sentence for me."

He suddenly spins around, and I immediately stop walking.

"I _know_ what you want me to explain," he says.

I nod my head. "Of course, My Lord."

He doesn't speak for a long minute, and despite the anxiety growing in my gut, I maintain a mildly curious expression.

Then his thin, pale lips twist into another one of those rare smiles.

"Why do you think that I teach _you_ those spells, and not the others?"

"It never occurred to me that I was the only one receiving instruction," I say truthfully.

The smile fades. "I am immortal," he says. "Do you believe it?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"Do you know _why_ I am immortal?"

"New Horcruxes?" I venture a guess.

"Precisely. It is a foolproof method of keeping me alive, forever. I can be killed and reborn, much like the precious phoenix that the late Dumbledore treasured so dearly."

I nod but still don't quite see where he's going with this.

"But I _can_ be killed, if only temporarily," he says.

_Oh_. I see now.

"And after building up so much power, it would be a pity to watch it crumble to pieces yet again, the way it did when I first fell. I need a… a successor, of sorts, to take power when I do not have the ability to command. And to resurrect me when I fall."

"But My Lord, you would never—"

"It is not likely, but I wish to be prepared. Last time, I was rash. I was arrogant. I thought myself _above_ death. And I thought that my _faithful_ followers would seek me out, raise me from the dead. Instead, they scattered to the wind, left me behind. It will _not_ happen again."

I take a moment to mull over his words, and they make sense. It's right for him to choose someone to take over if he's "killed", so that the Death Eaters won't disperse again. But…

"Why me?" I voice the question that I hardly dare ask.

"Draco, Draco, you don't understand," he says. "The Death Eaters who returned, your father among them, were not _truly_ faithful to me. If they were, then they would have searched, searched until they _found_ me. Instead, they hid, lied, began to serve the Ministry."

"Aunt Bella—"

"Oh yes, I considered her. Her loyalty is unquestionable. But her wrath, her anger clouds her judgment. She _is_, after all, but a woman."

Still, the question remains. Why me?

"Indeed, why you?" he says, lifting the question right out of my head. "I saw great potential in you, Draco. From the beginning. You failed when the time came to kill Dumbledore, and my faith in you faltered. But you have since proven yourself an invaluable asset. A credit to your name. And with the skills that I will transfer to you, you will be unstoppable."

"Don't you question my loyalty?" I say. "I'm practically a child, compared to the others in your service."

"I know your head, inside and out—I've been looking into your mind for years. There is nothing you can hide from me," he replies confidently. "Is there anything else you would like me to… _clear_ up?"

I shake my head.

"Good."

He undoes the Muffling Charm with a wave of his hand. Then he pulls open the door of the cell that he had stopped by and steps back, gesturing for me to enter first, as is usual when he supervises my sessions here.

My heart stops as I enter the cell and take in the occupant's identity and state of undress.

"Now, let me reintroduce you to Miss Hermione Granger."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I feel like I might've made Voldemort a little too "human" here… but you know what, it's my version of the universe, so there :P Hope you guys liked the chapter, and I'll update again soon!

By the way, in case you guys were curious, this chapter makes it even between Draco and Hermione; each has 15 chapters from their point of view! And because I'm nerdy like that, I added up the words for each of them just to see how even I've been writing so far: Hermione has 34,033 words and Draco has 28,777 words. Don't know what the point of that was, just a few fun facts, I guess ;)


	31. Chapter 31 H

**Author's Note:** I guess that was a mean cliffhanger to leave you guys with, so here's the next chapter!

**Chapter 31**

I can't tell if it's day or night, and it frustrates me. How long have I been here?

I think Blaise is asleep. Rather, I _hope_ he's asleep. He hasn't responded to my voice for a long while. I don't want to find out that he's been moved somewhere else, or worse…

I look at the small, barred window in the solid metal door and wonder how hard it'll be to reach freedom. I still haven't thought of a way to get out of these shackles. I'm sure it'll involve tricking a Death Eater into getting close enough for me to get a hold of his wand, but I don't know how I'll go about doing that.

Fuck, I don't want to die in here.

Then the door opens, and I close my eyes, deciding to feign sleep. Maybe the Death Eaters will talk, and I'll have a hint as to their identity. I hear footsteps as one man enters the room, followed by a quiet, unmistakable hiss.

"Now, let me reintroduce you to Miss Hermione Granger."

I suddenly feel more naked than before—this is someone who once knew me. Damn it.

The cell door slams shut, and I pray that Voldemort stayed outside. But of course I wouldn't hear his footsteps. The vile man _glides_.

"Granger," he hisses.

I feel compulsion to open my eyes and try to fight it, realizing too late that that's a dead giveaway that I've been awake. I open my eyes and see that the Dark Lord is indeed inside my cell. Why is he here?

Then there's the familiar feeling of cloth against my skin, and I realize that I'm covered by a large set of robes. I glance at Voldemort and see that he's looking at the Death Eater with a strange expression.

The Death Eater has his hood up, and I don't pay much attention to him until I realize that I _do_ recognize his mask. From… from…

Then Voldemort is gliding closer to me, and I shrink back, struggling against my bonds.

"So this—" he levitates the charm with snap of his fingers "—is the cursed necklace that the other Death Eaters cannot seem to defeat. What do _you_ think of it?"

The Death Eater steps forward, and I notice that he hasn't looked at my face since I opened my eyes. I can't see his eyes clearly. Is it a Glamour Charm? But that mask. I've definitely seen it before. Maybe I simply saw him on a battlefield.

His fingers touch the charm, and the whole chain heats up, sending a wave of warmth flooding through me. I look down at the chain and see that its appearance hasn't changed at all. Who…

The Forbidden Forest!

_This_ is the Death Eater I've been asking Blaise to find!

My mouth is suddenly dry. He has direct contact with Voldemort, so he must be one of the more important Death Eaters. Why would he ever release me unless it was under Voldemort's command? I feel like my worst fears have been confirmed.

"It looks… completely ordinary, My Lord."

My eyes widen as I hear his voice, and I look up at his mask again. No… no, it _can't_ be.

Draco Malfoy?

He lets the charm fall back to my chest, and the warmth on the chain fades. It really is him. He was the one who gave me this necklace, and no other hands have had that sort of effect on it.

"Test the claims of the others," Voldemort hisses.

Malfoy nods once, still refusing to meet my eyes, and backs up a step. A Stunning Spell shoots from the tip of his wand, and he steps to the side. When the jet of red light is within one foot of my chest, it rebounds and flies through the place where Malfoy had been standing before.

"Interesting," he says, cocking his head to the side.

He fires several hexes at me, none of which are able to reach me.

Voldemort looks extremely interested and eventually lifts his hand, a signal to stop. Malfoy backs up, and Voldemort steps forward. He reaches out to lift the charm, but as soon as his fingertips graze the metal, the charm turns red-hot, and he draws his hand back, small tendrils of smoke coming from his fingers. It burned him? But I only felt soothing warmth.

"It appears specifically engineered so that I cannot touch it. Interesting, indeed," he muses.

"My Lord, shall I go on?"

Voldemort steps away from me, moving to stand by the door, and Malfoy moves toward him.

"Try it nonverbally," Voldemort says.

Malfoy turns around to face me, and I finally speak up.

"Malfoy."

His eyes rest on my face for a moment, but I still can't see them clearly. Then his wand is pointing at me.

"Draco, where are your manners?" Voldemort sneers.

Malfoy lowers his wand. "Granger."

It feels unnerving, hearing his voice from behind a Death Eater mask.

"How did you know it was me?" he asks.

I can't hear any emotion in his voice, any clues about how he's feeling. "Your voice," I reply.

He doesn't speak, and Voldemort nods. I frown. If Voldemort is standing behind Malfoy, how is Malfoy supposed to know that he's nodding?

But clearly, Malfoy _does_ know—he lifts his wand to point it at me again.

Before I can speak, pain fills my stomach, and I grit my teeth, trying not to cry out. The pain lessens slightly and then redoubles, and a shriek tears from my throat. I thrash against the shackles, trying to free myself by sheer will.

"You're so generous today, Draco," Voldemort comments.

"I'm just getting started."

I can hear from his voice that his face would have held a smirk. How can he—

Pain assaults a point just behind my heart, and every beat seems to make it worse. More screams come from me. I didn't know I was capable of making such loud sirens.

The pain shifts again when he moves his wand to point at the base of my neck, and suddenly I feel like I can't breathe. Every breath of air that passes through my throat seems to rub the insides raw. I swallow, and I can't bear the pain that shoots through me. My screams exacerbate the pain, yet I still can't stop.

One more shift. Then my skull is splitting, my brain is melting, my eyeballs are falling out of my head.

Can't think.

Can't think.

Kill me, please!

Pain.

Kill me!

I see his eyes.

Pain.

Silver eyes, reflecting the hurt in my body.

Pain.

I'm begging you, Malfoy! KILL ME!

The pain leaves me, and for one long, blissful moment, I think I'm dead.

But the biting cold engulfs me again, and I know that I'm still alive.

Suddenly the shackles around my wrists don't seem so painful anymore.

"It seems the Cruciatus Curse still works on her," Voldemort says. "If this charm has a weakness, then its creator was not infallible. We can dismantle it."

I stare at Malfoy, eyes wide. The charm that has been protecting me was given by him. Isn't he worried that Voldemort will know? That he'll discover everything?

"Granger," Voldemort says.

I glance at his face to see that he's looking directly at me. I quickly drop my gaze to the floor, avoiding eye contact.

"Will you tell me who has betrayed me? I will consider letting you go free, if you do."

"If I tell you, then I'll have outlived my worth, and you'll kill me," I say evenly.

"I will not deny that that is highly likely," he says. "But with or without your help, I _will_ find the traitor. If you assist me, you might survive. If not, you face certain death."

"I'll take death, then," I say.

He smiles, and the expression is more horrifying than I had imagined. "Maybe we can change your mind. Draco, if you please."

Malfoy's wand points at me again, and I pray for a miracle.

"Crucio!" he says forcefully.

Stabbing pain assaults me from all sides, and I cry out, wishing for relief. I thrash wildly, trying to free my wrists and ankles from the shackles. The pain slowly recedes, and then suddenly concentrates in my chest. Tears leak from my eyes as I scream incessantly.

Is it too late to start believing in God and praying for deliverance?

I feel blood beginning to run down my arms—the shackles must have scraped through my skin. But I don't even _feel_ the pain in my wrists. Only that single region in my torso feels intense pain. I scream as though the sound will bring me peace. If the only thing I can do to my captors is deafen them with my screams, then deafen them I will.

Nothing can be worse than this.

The pain travels up my chest toward my left shoulder, then jumps across to my right shoulder.

A mixture of tears, sweat, and blood trickles down my face in a convoluted mixture, and I watch as the drops slowly collect on the floor below me.

The screams continue.

I don't even recognize my own voice anymore.

It's begging for mercy, begging for death. Begging for _anything_ to end this torment.

My eyes lock on the silver ones behind the mask, and I see icy cold steel.

Malfoy, what's happened to you? Save me! Why won't you save me?

I can't take this pain anymore.

Kill me! Malfoy, please! Kill me!

There's a flash of anger in those steel grey eyes, and then everything's black.

Blissfully painless, endless black.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'll put up the next chapter by tomorrow—I decided not to remove Draco's perspective of the torture scene, so that's what's coming tomorrow (or later today, depending on how much time I have).

Thanks for reading!


	32. Chapter 32 D

**Author's Note:** Here it is, Draco's perspective!

**Chapter 32**

Fuck.

It takes all of my will power to stop myself from removing the shackles from her wrists and ankles, covering her up with a robe, and taking her straight out of here. _No_. I would be dead in a second, and Granger would still be locked up in here.

I have to stay alive. That is the priority.

I keep my eyes on the floor. I can't look at her body without stirring some sort of physical response within me that would not be appropriate, considering her blood status. My body is already overheated, a result of that first glance at her uncovered form, and I try my best to hide my reaction.

"Granger," Voldemort hisses.

I can't keep staring at the floor—it's too obvious. I nonverbally conjure a set of loose robes around her, hiding her figure. I look up to see that Voldemort is watching me with an expression that could almost be described as curious. I don't make excuses, and he doesn't ask.

He moves over to Granger and levitates the golden heart charm.

"So this is the cursed necklace that the other Death Eaters cannot seem to defeat. What do _you_ think of it?"

I quickly cast a nonverbal Glamour Charm on my eyes, the only part of my face that she can see—if this goes the way I expect it to and she discovers my identity, she will hate me forever. And I don't know if I can bear that kind of hatred from her. Not after making peace with her.

I move forward and finger the levitated charm, aware of how it heats up at my familiar touch. I hadn't anticipated that the charms placed on it would have that sort of effect.

"It looks… completely ordinary, My Lord," I say, releasing the charm.

She looks up at me, but I avoid her eyes.

"Test the claims of the others."

I nod and take a step back to put some space between us. I point my wand at her and fire a Stunning Spell. Then I take one step to my left. Even though I already know that the spell can't hurt her, I still want to block it for her. The jet of light bends back and flies past me to hit the wall behind me.

"Interesting," I say, as though I didn't expect that reaction.

I proceed to throw several hexes at her, moving around to avoid the rebounding shots and to try different angles. Not one reaches her. There's no denying it. I'm brilliant.

Then Voldemort holds his hand up, and I hold my wand at my side. He steps toward Granger, and I see that his intention is to examine the charm. I smile slightly behind the mask. I'm about to see whether or not my new little spell worked.

When the Dark Lord draws his hand back as though burned, I quickly mask the feeling of triumph that fills me. Looks like I've done it.

"It appears specifically engineered so that I cannot touch it," Voldemort says. "Interesting, indeed."

I step forward. "My Lord, shall I go on?"

Voldemort backs up to stand by the door, and I turn around to face him.

"Try it nonverbally."

Nonverbally? Logically, that would weaken the spell, wouldn't it? But I don't argue. Maybe this spell is different—it's something that Voldemort came up with, after all.

I turn around to face her, but her voice makes me pause.

"Malfoy."

Fuck. She knows.

I don't let this affect me, lifting my hand to point my wand at her. My gaze rests on her face for a brief moment, and then I look away. I can't watch her go through this.

"Draco, where are your manners?" the Dark Lord asks from behind me.

I lower my wand. This is just putting off the inevitable. Fuck.

"Granger," I say, keeping my voice even. "How did you know it was me?"

I can feel her eyes searching for mine, but I can't bring myself to face her.

"Your voice," she says.

Ah, well. There goes my last chance with her.

Voldemort lifts my wand arm for me, prompting me to get started. I take a good look at her face before aiming my wand at her stomach and concentrating hard.

_Crucio Locus_.

The response is immediate—I see the tightening of her expression as she tries to hold back a scream. No, I can't have that. If she doesn't make a sound, Voldemort will think I'm going too easy on her. I increase the pain and draw a loud shriek from her.

Her shackles clank together loudly as she tries to free herself, and I feel my will power fading slightly.

No. Self-preservation is the priority. I have to keep reminding myself that. A dead body can't save Granger. I have to be alive and well to free her from this prison.

"You're so generous today, Draco."

Fuck.

"I'm just getting started," I say, smirking behind the mask.

Then I point my wand at her chest, and the screams get louder.

Staying alive. Staying alive. That's all that matters.

I move the wand up to her neck.

I realize just how grateful I am that Voldemort prefers watching the tortured rather than the torturer—if he could see my eyes right now, I'm almost positive that he would see straight through to my soul.

I can't stop the spell. Do _not_ stop the spell.

Last one. Last one.

I can make it.

We can make it.

I shift my wand to point at her forehead, and the shrieks become ear-splitting.

"Kill me, please!" she screams.

Fuck.

"Kill me!" she cries repeatedly.

Every scream pierces my heart. I'm being ripped apart, one piece at a time. Her wild eyes find mine, fix on mine, and I can't look away.

Hang in there.

"I'm begging you, Malfoy! Kill me!" she howls.

I finally lower my wand, lifting the curse. I drop my gaze to the floor, hardly able to believe that I made it. That _we_ made it.

"It seems the Cruciatus Curse still works on her," Voldemort says, bringing me back to the present. "If this charm has a weakness, then its creator was not infallible. We can dismantle it."

Good luck with that, Lord Voldemort.

"Granger," he hisses. "Will you tell me who has betrayed me? I will consider letting you go free, if you do."

Tell him. Fuck it all, just tell him. I could release the shackles, toss her my wand. She could make a run for it. The charm would protect her from almost anything. I know enough wandless magic to keep Voldemort at bay for a short period of time. Maybe _just_ long enough.

But she's already speaking.

"If I tell you, then I'll have outlived my worth, and you'll kill me."

"I will not deny that that is highly likely. But with or without your help, I _will_ find the traitor."

I doubt he can find out that it was me without capturing another member of the Order, and they won't be much different from Granger. A very righteous group of people, always willing to die for the cause. That's what separates me from them. I don't think I could ever die for an _idea_.

"If you assist me," Voldemort continues, "you might survive. If not, you face certain death."

"I'll take death, then," she says immediately.

No. Fuck, no. She won't be dying anytime soon. Not when there's something I can do about it.

"Maybe we can change your mind," Voldemort says. "Draco, if you please."

I point my wand at her. I'll start her off soft this time.

"Crucio!"

She cries out immediately, and the sound hurts me. My will weakens for a moment as I once again consider the possibility of making a break for it.

No! Self-preservation. I have to stay alive.

I have to stay alive.

I aim my wand at her chest. _Crucio Locus_.

Again, her screams increase in volume, and I'm almost surprised that she still has a voice.

Her body jerks back and forth, and I wonder if she's even doing that consciously anymore. The shackles are cutting into her wrists and ankles, and I quickly focus my eyes on hers. Her eyes are wild again, filled with tears, staring at almost anything in the cell but me.

I shift my wand slowly to her left shoulder, and then her right.

And then those brown eyes lock with mine. I wish she wouldn't look at me. What she sees wouldn't be me. I have control over my emotions now, and what remains on the outside is a mask of indifference.

"Please, Malfoy, please! Please!"

That's all that I can understand before her voice breaks off into unintelligible screams again.

She wants to be gone. She wants to die.

Sorry, Granger.

Calming my mind, I consolidate all of my concentration on her—the torture curse weakens, but hardly noticeably. Then, a stream of white light flows from the end of my wand, and the screams stop. I just put her to sleep.

"Draco, what is the meaning of this?"

"I—I don't know," I say, and even I am surprised by the tone of false astonishment in my voice.

Voldemort moves around to face me, and I meet his eyes readily.

"I… the screams were really bothering me. I must have…" I let my voice fade away.

He drives into my head, browsing for any hint that that bolt of white light could have been intentional. But all he finds is intense concentration on carrying out his orders.

"I see," he says.

Then he frowns. "That Macnair can't do anything on his own, can he?" he mutters.

"Should I assist?"

He shakes his head. "I must go myself. Return to the Manor. Continue tomorrow, and bring Bellatrix."

"Yes, My Lord."

He vanishes in a puff of dark smoke, and I release a breath I hadn't even realized I'd been holding. That was a fucking close call. Thank god Macnair chose this moment to summon the Dark Lord. He may have just saved my life.

I exit the cell without a backward glance—I can't risk losing control now. It'd be too easy to convince myself to try to escape with her while Voldemort isn't here. I need time to think.

"Draco!"

I'm already halfway down the hall, but I slow to a stop. "Blaise?"

"Draco, what the fuck did you just do to Hermione?"

Hermione. _He_ can call her Hermione. Jealousy threatens to bubble to the surface again, and I work my hardest to repress it as I move back to the cell that his voice is coming from.

"Who do you think you are, Blaise? Do you think I have to answer to you? Do you think we're still friends?" I ask in a cold voice.

He's strung up in a position similar to Hermione's. He glares at me.

"If she's hurt—"

"Oh, are you going to threaten me now? I have plenty of time on my hands right now. Would you like a turn, traitor?"

Old anger flares up in his eyes as I remind him of our battle.

"So you haven't forgotten either," I say. "Then again, it must be hard to forget, with a scar like that."

"Speak for yourself."

I enter the cell and shut the door. I nonverbally cast a Muffling Charm.

"It's safe to speak now," I say. "And it's impossible to forget, with a scar like this."

He nods. "Impossible," he agrees. "Hermione—"

"She's fine," I reply tersely.

"She didn't _sound_ fine."

I glare at him. "You think I didn't know that?"

"You—"

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to _inflict_ that sort of pain on her without being able to stop it? You should know that I can't just stop. He'd kill me for being the traitor, and then her because she's a Mudblood that he doesn't need anymore."

His eyes burn into mine. "You're not the only one who cares about her, Draco."

"What, have you grown a heart at last? And for the Mudblood, of all people?"

"Stop calling her that. It doesn't even have a meaning for us anymore. Not when we feel—"

"Don't speak for my emotions," I interrupt him.

"I know your feelings, Draco. Don't you go denying them now. I know you better than anyone."

"I have to go."

I turn and head for the exit.

"Draco, wait."

I pause, lifting my wand in preparation to lift the Muffling Charm.

"Save her. I don't care whether or not you can get me out of here. Just… save her."

"If you really know me as well as you say you do, you should know that I was already going to do that."

I flick my wand to lift the charm and then exit the cell.

Time to have a talk with Aunt Bella about the visit Voldemort is paying to Macnair. I have a rescue to plan, and it'd be convenient to know when the Dark Lord will return.

* * *

**Author's Note:** It might be a few days before my next update, so hang in there! You'll be able to read some more about our beloved turncoat soon. (:


	33. Chapter 33 H

**Author's Note:** I'm so, so, so excited for part 2 of the _Deathly Hallows_ coming out tomorrow! Sadly, I can't make it to the premiere, but I'm watching it in the evening. I hope they didn't change too much from the book…

I originally wasn't going to post this week because I have a stat midterm next Wednesday (and I'm very, very stressed out as a result), but I decided to go through a few old chapters.

**Chapter 33**

It's still so cold…

Damn it.

If I can feel the cold, that means I'm still alive.

How long have I been unconscious?

I shift a little to place my weight on my legs, and my arms scream in pain. I look up and see trails of dried blood starting at my wrists and coming down toward my face. I open my mouth wide and feel the cracking of the dried blood on my cheeks.

Malfoy.

I was tortured by Malfoy and visited by Voldemort himself. How… how could I possibly matter that much? Suddenly Malfoy seems much more of a threat. What if he's only pretending to betray Voldemort? What if he's doing it on Voldemort's orders?

But he didn't tell the Death Eaters anything about our counterattack to save Nottingham. No, that could simply have been a ploy to gain our trust.

I shudder at the memory of kissing him. And I've had more dreams about the two of us…

God, and I thought that I could possibly start to trust him.

Then the cell door swings open, and four Death Eaters enter. I take a deep breath, glaring at them, and steel myself for the Cruciatus Curse—they must know now that that's one of the only curses that will make it past the mysterious golden charm around my neck.

And now I have another argument to add to the cacophony in my mind. Malfoy gave me this necklace to _protect_ me. Why would he do that if he's working for Voldemort? It'd be very difficult for them to catch me if they couldn't hurt me. I'm sure that I could have escaped from the building where we were keeping Rowle if they hadn't caught Lupin and threatened me with him.

"Well, well, looks like Mudblood Granger met a pretty sticky end," one of them says.

He seems to be the leader of this group—the others all stand a little behind him.

"You'll all meet sticky ends too, when I get out of these chains," I snarl.

"Oh ho, I'm so scared now," he says mockingly.

I recognize that voice. I've heard him taunting people before. He's…

"Montague?"

"You remember me," he says, sounding surprised. "Well then, there's no point in this awful mask now, is there?"

He removes his mask, and the three men behind him follow suit. I hardly remember their names, but I know they were all on the Slytherin Quidditch team at some point. The two bulkiest were beaters, Derrick and Bole. I can't remember what position the last man played, or his name. But I remember the way the green Quidditch robes looked on them.

"Get on with it," I say.

Montague grins. "So, you want to get out of those chains, do you?"

I don't respond.

"Okay," he says. He points his wand at me. "Imperio."

A light sensation comes over me, and I look around the cell curiously. Then the shackles around my wrists and ankles open up, and I let my arms drop to my sides. I look at the four huge men standing between me and the exit. I couldn't possibly escape wandless. And I don't have to. I can stay here forever.

No. I have to get out of here. I can't stay here. I have to get out.

Then I hear a voice in my head. _Take off those robes._

I start to unbutton the robes, but I pause and pull my hands back.

Why should I? No. No, I don't want to. I'm not wearing anything underneath.

I'm under the Imperius Curse. I can fight it.

But it'd be so much easier to just listen. I rather like that floating, carefree feeling.

No! There will be no submitting to these Slytherin buffoons.

_Just take them off_, the voice insists.

My hands move toward the button again, and I'm barely able to stop myself.

I've done it before. I can throw this off.

The light feeling leaves me, and suddenly everything—the unrelenting cold, the pain in my wrists, the ache from yesterday's torture—returns in piercing clarity.

I lunge wildly for the door, but Derrick and Bole shove me backwards, and I fall back on the ground. I feel so weak. How long have I been chained up here?

"Crucio!"

I'm stabbed from all sides.

I don't know who cast the curse, but it doesn't seem to matter anymore.

Pain.

I fall to the ground, writhing in pain.

How many sessions of torture will I have to endure?

Pain.

Why won't they just kill me?

The pain leaves me, and I feel a surge of pride. I didn't utter a sound.

As I curl up into a ball on the ground, I hear them laughing.

Then, as soon as it stopped, the pain resurges, and I'm rolling around in agony again. I clench my teeth, refusing to let any sound escape my lips.

I pray that these bastards can't focus all the pain in one place like Malfoy can. I don't know how much more of that sort of torture I can take.

Every second feels like a year.

Please let this end soon.

Please, please, _please…_

And then the curse is lifted again.

I gasp sharply, pulling much-needed air into my lungs.

"You haven't—even said—what you wanted—from me," I pant.

Montague laughs. "Nothing but your silent obedience," he says.

And then I hear that blasted word again.

"Imperio."

The carefree feeling settles over me once again, and the pain seems to seep right out of my limbs, leaving me relaxed and content. I lift myself into a sitting position and look up at the men. They're all laughing. Are they laughing at _me?_

Of course they are. I'm their puppet. I have to fight this.

His voice is in my head again. _Look at me, Granger. I'm your master. Now be a good girl. Stand up and take those robes off._

I want to fight, but I feel exhausted. It's so, so, so much easier to just do what I'm told.

And I want to please my master, don't I?

No, no, no, _no!_ He is _not_ my master!

But my body seems to move of its own accord, and before I know it, I'm on my feet, undoing the button that holds my robes together. The light cloth slips from my shoulders and pools around my ankles.

The men stare at me hungrily, but somehow it doesn't bother me.

How can it not bother me? I try to force myself to move, but my body isn't taking orders from me anymore. Back away. I want to back away. Why am I not moving?

I see that Montague is now sitting in a chair that he conjured for himself.

God, no. Please.

_Come here, little lioness. Come and unbuckle my belt._

I manage to shake my head and force my feet to stay firmly planted on the ground. A look of discontent crosses his face, and he points his wand at me.

I buckle under the Cruciatus Curse and fall to my knees, leaning forward until my forehead touches the ground. I clench my jaw tightly, surprised that I haven't ground my teeth to nubs already. I topple to the side, curling up as though it'll help me hide from the pain that's clawing at me from inside and out.

I'm released from the pain, and the same light, untroubled feeling fills my mind.

It's just so much easier to obey.

_If you just listen to me, I won't do that again. You don't want it to happen again, do you?_

I shake my head automatically. Under the influence or not, I don't want to be tortured again.

_Now be a good girl. Come to me._

My legs take me toward him. My mind is hardly functioning anymore.

His intentions are clear enough without sending direct orders into my head, and when I reach him, I kneel on the chair over his lap, straddling his hips.

Oh, fuck. What am I doing?

Horrified, I start to back up, but one of his arms loops around my waist, pressing me toward him. I turn my head away from his.

_Just relax_.

Without my consent, my body starts relaxing into his arms.

No! No, no, no! I feel as though I'm stuck in my mind, having a temper tantrum, but my body won't do a thing that I want it to.

Then my fingers are opening up his pants and pushing down the zipper. There's an obvious bulge in his briefs, and I lift myself up on my knees to push his pants and shorts down, releasing his erect member.

Oh, Merlin, I'm going to puke.

But even _that_ is something I can't control. My body won't even respond as it normally would. Fuck!

I feel more aware than ever that three pairs of eyes are watching, and I tense my legs up.

I _won't_ let this happen to me. I will _not_ participate in my own rape.

This isn't happening. God, please tell me this isn't happening.

_Come down, little lioness. Nice and slow. You're going to fuck me, and you're going to love it. Don't you feel yourself getting wet? So, so wet for me. You'll scream for me like the filthy little whore you are_.

Despite my best efforts, my legs start to weaken, and my body temperature spikes up in response to his demand for my arousal.

I start to feel like I can't breathe. I force air into my lungs and clench my quadriceps, even as wetness begins to creep down the inside of my legs. I won't budge. He can't make me. He _can't_.

His wand pokes my chin.

"Do you need one last lesson in obedience, Granger?" he says maliciously.

Then the cell door bangs open, and all four Death Eaters are distracted. I immediately try to shove myself away from him, but Montague recovers too quickly and tugs me back to him.

Then the chair Vanishes.

Montague crashes to the ground, but I remain floating in the air. Soft, light material covers me, and I look down to see that the robe I had discarded earlier is wrapped around me again. I'm set down gently on my feet, and I step back shakily.

"What the _fuck_ did you four think you were doing?"

I never thought that I would ever be so grateful to hear Malfoy's voice.

"M—Malfoy, we were only—" Bole begins.

Montague is already on his feet, with his pants back on. "What right do you have to be here, Malfoy?" he barks.

Malfoy looks at him and says calmly, "Granger is my prisoner. You should know better by now. No one touches _my_ prisoners without permission. Are we clear, Graham?"

"Since when was she _yours?_"

"I was here with the Dark Lord yesterday. Didn't the sentries give you a heads up? Oh right, I forgot. You offended them a few days back, didn't you? I suppose they wanted to put you on my bad side." Malfoy clicks his tongue. "You had better watch your tongue, Graham. It'll get you into trouble."

"Stop calling me by my first name. You have no right."

"Well, _I_ do, Graham, and you _will_ respect my nephew."

Now _that_ is one voice that I will never, _ever_ be glad to hear. Bellatrix Lestrange steps into the room, and all four of the Death Eaters who were torturing me stiffen slightly. I suppose I can be reasonably grateful for the effect she has on them.

"I didn't know you were here, Ma'am," Montague says.

"Do you think my absence excuses your actions?"

"No, Ma'am."

Malfoy jerks his head toward the exit. "Get out of here."

Montague has on a murderous look, but he leaves the room without complaint, followed by his three cronies.

Then Malfoy is addressing me. "Mind getting back into those shackles for me, Mudblood?"

For one crazy moment, I consider making a mad dash for the exit. But between Malfoy and Bellatrix, there is no way for me to escape.

I back up a few steps and place my feet back in the shackles. Malfoy flicks his wand, and they clamp around my ankles. He motions for me to lift my arms, and I do so quietly. The shackles close around my wrists again, and despair fills me.

I'll never leave this place, will I?

"My, my, she's so obedient to you, Draco," Bellatrix comments, amused.

Malfoy doesn't reply to his aunt, instead stepping toward me. "Are you ready for day two?" he asks, smirking.

"As ready as you are," I reply.

He's not wearing his mask today, so I can see his face. Yet still, I can't see through to him. I can't tell which side he's really working for.

"Get on with it then, Draco, I don't have all day," Bellatrix says impatiently.

He backs up a step, and for a split second, I see a clear apology in his eyes. Then his eyes turn back into cold metal, and I brace myself.

He goes straight for my head this time, and my thoughts immediately fly out the window.

Blinding pain.

Mind-numbing.

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Someone's screaming very, very loudly.

I realize that the enormous ache in my head is finally gone and that the loud wails are coming from me. I clamp my mouth shut. My eyesight slowly returns to normal. Malfoy comes into focus, and then Bellatrix. She appears to be saying something to him, but everything sounds slurred to me. With great effort, I begin to make out the words.

"…I saw it in your eyes, Draco. Don't deny it."

"Look at me, Aunt Bella. Look into my eyes—my mind," Malfoy says. "I don't care about this Mudblood at all."

Malfoy's trying to convince his aunt… that he _doesn't_ care about me. Then that must mean Bellatrix thinks he cares about me. _Why?_ He was just _torturing_ me!

"I know that I've trained you well," Bellatrix says with a small smile.

The expression looks extremely foreign on her face.

"If you really don't want me to see something," she continues, "I'm sure you can hide it quite well by now."

"Fine. If you're that convinced that I care about her, why aren't you summoning the Dark Lord?"

"Because that you are my nephew, and my favorite student. And there is still one way to remedy the situation."

"What is it?"

Bellatrix looks at me. "Kill the girl."

What? No, please don't. But on second thought, if I had a choice between torture and death, I might welcome death. Whatever it is that Malfoy does to me simply hurts too much.

"If she dies on my watch, the Dark Lord will have my head," Malfoy says.

"And you claim not to care for her," Bellatrix says softly.

She spins around to point her wand at me, and in her eyes, I see none of the tenderness that I heard in her voice.

"Well then, if you don't care about her, I suppose this won't matter. Sectumvasculus!"

I feel a sharp pain in the side of my neck.

The last thing I hear before I lose consciousness is Malfoy's cry.

"Nooooo!"

* * *

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the cliffhanger, I'll try not to keep you waiting too long before the next part. There are still some kinks to be worked out because I reorganized a bit.

I made up "Sectumvasculus", sort of as a tribute to Sectumsempra. You'll find out the effect of the spell in one or two chapters.

As always, please review! (:


	34. Chapter 34 D

**Author's Note:** I wasn't planning to post a chapter tonight, but I just finished re-watching part 1 of _Deathly Hallows_, and I'm just in a very Harry Potter mood right now, so here's the next chapter for you guys! I seriously can't wait to see part 2 tomorrow (well, technically today, I guess…)

Hope you guys like it!

**Chapter 34**

"Did the Dark Lord say _why_ he wanted me to babysit you?"

I've heard this a thousand times already.

"Aunt Bella, you really are like a child sometimes," I say, smirking. "It won't be that awful. I'll give you a good show. Besides, I thought you liked watching pain."

"I did once. But quite honestly, it bores me now," she replies with an exaggerated yawn.

"Sorry to hear that," I say.

We pass by the eight guards at the entrance to the dungeons. It's just past sunrise, but I couldn't sleep at all last night, so I decided that I should just come early. It wasn't too difficult to convince Aunt Bella to get up early—I reminded her that as soon as this chore was out of the way, she would be free to go back on her raids again.

When we enter the hallway, it's very quiet. But I sense that something's not right.

I move to the door swiftly and see the backs of two large Death Eaters.

Fuck.

I throw open the door to her cell, and the sight that meets my eyes has me tense and poised for the kill.

A Death Eater is seated in a large chair, and sitting atop him, completely naked, is Granger. I immediately recognize the culprit as Graham Montague.

I repress my instinctual reaction to kill him and settle for Vanishing his chair, careful to keep Granger from falling with him. I avert my eyes from her body and flick my wand to put the robes that I'd conjured yesterday back on her. I set her down carefully and look at the intruders.

"What the _fuck_ did you four think you were doing?" I say quietly.

If I've learned anything from all this time with Voldemort, it's that sometimes, calm silence is much more effective in stirring fear than raging anger.

Lucian tries to speak. "M—Malfoy, we were only—"

Graham interrupts him, having gotten to his feet and covered himself up already. "What right do you have to be here, Malfoy?"

"Granger is my prisoner," I say. "You should know better by now. No one touches _my_ prisoners without permission. Are we clear, Graham?"

He looks at me incredulously. "Since when was she _yours?_"

"I was here with the Dark Lord yesterday," I reply readily. "Didn't the sentries give you a heads up? Oh right, I forgot. You offended them a few days back, didn't you? I suppose they wanted to put you on my bad side."

I shake my head and click my tongue. I love treating this bastard like a child. And if I can't rip his head off at this moment, the least I can do is agitate him to no end. Maybe he'll blast his brains out himself to be rid of me. Unlikely, but one can hope.

"You had better watch your tongue, Graham," I continue. "It'll get you into trouble."

"Stop calling me by my first name," he says heatedly. "You have no right."

Before I can reply, Aunt Bella speaks. "Well, _I_ do, Graham, and you _will_ respect my nephew."

I don't need her help, but I suppose it'd be ungrateful to tell her to back off.

"I didn't know you were here, Ma'am," Graham says contritely.

My aunt's presence clearly intimidates Graham and his three followers—they were all members of our Quidditch team. Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole were Beaters, and Miles Bletchley was our Keeper. I'm still surprised that Peregrine and Lucian are willing to take orders from Graham. After all, when he was named Captain, the first thing he did was replace them with Vince and Greg.

But that's all ancient history, and now, old Quidditch ties mean hardly anything.

"Do you think my absence excuses your actions?" Aunt Bella says.

"No, Ma'am."

I feel my self-control wearing down. If Graham doesn't get out of the room soon, I might just explode that giant head of his.

I jerk my head toward the door. "Get out of here," I say.

He glares at me, and I'm sorely tempted to gouge out his eyeballs and set them on fire. Fuck, I haven't had such violent urges for years.

When they're gone, I look at Granger.

"Mind getting back into those shackles for me, Mudblood?" I say.

Her eyes dart between me and my aunt. Looking longingly at the exit, she backs up and places her feet in the open shackles. I chain her up again and feel my heart wrench at the desolation so clearly expressed on her face.

"My, my, she's so obedient to you, Draco," Aunt Bella muses.

I don't have anything to say to that. I suppose I could make some comment about having tortured her the day before.

Instead, I move toward Granger, smirking. "Are you ready for day two?"

She meets my eyes, unafraid. "As ready as you are," she says.

She's so fiercely beautiful in that moment that I can't seem to take my eyes off her. I feel like time has stopped. My lungs cease to draw in air, and my heart stops beating. I wish I could prolong the moment, wish I could preserve this powerful expression on her face forever.

But I know that I will be the one wiping it away, in less than a minute.

Fuck me.

"Get on with it then, Draco, I don't have all day," Aunt Bella says.

I back up a step and try for an apologetic look—Aunt Bella is still standing behind me, so she won't see. I've already royally fucked up my chances with Granger, but that ridiculously hopeful idiot inside me still wants me to give it a shot.

I point my wand at her head and clench my jaw.

_Crucio Locus._

She screams immediately, and though I spent all night trying to prepare myself for it, I still can't stand the sound of her torture.

I maintain focus, but my eyes are beginning to water.

Fuck.

I hear Aunt Bella's footsteps as she moves toward Granger to get a better look. I'm not sure she's seen this curse in action before.

I try furiously to blink the tears away. This is no time for weakness.

Then I'm looking into Aunt Bella's infuriated eyes. Fuck!

"Draco, _please_ tell me you're not _crying_."

I glare at her and choose not to respond. The tears have mostly dried anyway. I keep my focus, but she doesn't turn her attention to Granger, instead looking at my face.

"No," she breathes.

Somehow, I can still hear her above Granger's deafening screams.

"No, it's impossible."

"What is?" I ask through clenched teeth, losing concentration for a moment.

Then I berate myself for being distracted and focus on the spell again, trying to block out Granger's unending cries. I shouldn't have taken the bait. She's going to kill me.

"You're in love."

Fuck, no!

Alarm bells go off in my head as my mind scrambles for a convincing rebuttal. Instead of an outright denial—I'm sure she would take it as a lie anyway—I go for an attack.

"What would _you_ know about love? You're a habitual tormentor. You derive joy from others' suffering," I say.

Bugger the spell. I can't focus already, and Granger's screaming isn't helping. I have to convince Aunt Bella that I'm not in love. Fuck, Malfoys don't _love_. I'm infatuated, hopelessly obsessed, mad. _Not_ in love.

Not a snowball's chance in hell.

I lower my wand.

"I wasn't always heartless," Aunt Bella says softly. "Do you know _why_ I tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom to the point of insanity?"

I shake my head, but I can already guess the story.

"I was in love. Long before I joined the Dark Lord, before I married Rodolphus, I was in love with Frank Longbottom. And I thought he loved me too, but he chose that _perfect_ Gryffindor girl, Alice, to be his bride. I swore revenge and vowed never to love again."

I scoff. "And _that_ makes you an expert on the dreadful emotion? I would never—"

"You _are_ in love. I saw it in your eyes, Draco. Don't deny it."

"Look at me, Aunt Bella. Look into my eyes—my _mind_. I don't care about this Mudblood at all."

"I know that I've trained you well. If you really don't want me to see something, I'm sure you can hide it quite well by now."

"Fine. If you're that convinced that I care about her, why aren't you summoning the Dark Lord?" I ask.

"Because that you are my nephew, and my favorite student. And there is still one way to remedy the situation," Aunt Bella says.

"What is it?" I ask.

She glances in Granger's direction. "Kill the girl."

"If she dies on my watch, the Dark Lord will have my head," I say.

"And you claim not to care for her," Aunt Bella says quietly.

I meet her gaze, daring her to delve into my mind. But instead, she turns around and points her wand at Granger. Fuck.

"Well then, if you don't care about her, I suppose this won't matter," she says.

Aw hell, I'm not going to like this.

"Sectumvasculus!"

God, no. Not _that_ spell. I hadn't learned it yet when I made the charm. I let out a fierce roar and lunge forward, snatching Aunt Bella's wand right out of her hand.

"Draco!" she says, her face aghast.

I point both of our wands at her. "If I leave, you'll summon the Dark Lord," I say.

It's a statement of fact, not a question.

I'm shocked to see that her eyes are filled with tears.

"Draco, don't do this."

"I don't have a choice," I say, speaking my mind to her for the first time in a long time. "If your spell kills her, I will come back and rip you to pieces. Do you understand me?"

She pulls up her sleeve, exposing the Dark Mark. "Then you leave me no choice," she says.

For a split second, I consider killing her. She's defenseless, and I have two wands trained on her. I could kill her and save countless lives.

But she's my aunt. She watched me grow up. And even after discovering that I might be the traitor, she hesitated before summoning the Dark Lord, someone she pledged to serve for her entire life. I realize in that moment that I can't kill her.

Before she can touch her finger to the Mark, I let loose the spell intended for her.

"Obliviate!"

She crumples to the ground, a glazed expression on her face, and I turn around to face Granger. Blood spews from her neck, and I know that Aunt Bella aimed for her carotid artery with that curse. Fuck!

I staunch the bleeding as quickly as possible, but I can tell that she's already lost a lot of blood. Maybe too much.

I turn away from her and step out of the cell, Transfiguring myself temporarily into Ronald Weasley. Then I call out for the eight sentries to come down and help with an attempted escape. They race into the hallway, and I incapacitate each and every one of them swiftly. Bloody hell, if I'd known those guards were _this_ fucking useless, I'd have tried this last night.

It's a good thing I came so early in the morning—it seems no other Death Eaters are down here to torture prisoners.

Fuck, I was wrong.

Rowle appears from a cell down the hall and races toward me, shouting curses. I counter the ones that he fires at me and dodge back into Granger's cell. He swears loudly and runs to the doorway, and I thank whatever higher power is up there that it's Rowle here and not another smarter, more powerful Death Eater.

As soon as he appears, I point my wand at him.

"Imperio!"

After a moment of struggling, he looks at me with a glazed, placid expression—his will power has never been strong.

I consider simply modifying his memory and Stunning him, but I might be able to use him in the future. I command him to erase the memory of the person he'd just been torturing and return to his home.

As he walks back down the hall, I lift the Transfiguration on myself and go about modifying each of the guards' memories. One of them will remember that Weasley coerced him into opening up two cells before being knocked out. The other seven will remember hearing a strangled cry, rushing down to help, and being completely outnumbered by members of the Order whose faces they won't be able to recall. In the fray, two of them witnessed Aunt Bella sprawled on the ground of Granger's cell, unconscious.

Then I pull open the door to Blaise's cell and undo his shackles with a flick of my wand. He looks at me, surprised.

"Draco, what—"

"I don't have time," I reply, tossing him a wand from one of the unconscious Death Eaters. "I'll find your wand when I return. Get out of here. Now."

"But Hermione—"

"I've got Granger. _Get out of here_."

Blaise gives me a long look before Disapparating. Then I hurry back into Granger's cell. With shaking hands, I free her from the shackles, and she collapses into my arms. I thrust my aunt's wand back on the ground beside her and then Disapparate.

As soon as I reach my cottage, I take Granger into my bedroom and gingerly place her on the bed, pulling the covers over her. Right now she needs… a glass of Blood Replenishing Potion, some fresh blood for a transfusion, and a bezoar—maybe two—for recovery. This spell greatly weakens the victim, even after recovering from blood loss.

I sit down on the side of the bed and Summon an empty glass, a bottle of Blood Replenishing Potion, and a bezoar from the kitchen—that'll be for tomorrow morning.

I fill the glass to about halfway with the potion and stopper the bottle.

A look at her abnormally pale complexion fills me with remorse for my aunt's actions. I wave a hand over her to clean the blood from her skin. Only a thin scar remains where the curse hit her.

Then I pull open the drawer on the nightstand and retrieve a thin dagger. I hold my wrist over the half-filled glass of potion and make one quick incision. I barely feel the pain, watching as my blood flows into the liquid, thickening it. When the glass is nearly full, I close the wound, feeling slightly dizzy.

I point my wand at her.

"Rennervate."

Her eyes flutter open languidly, and I pull her up into a sitting position.

"Malfoy?" she croaks.

"Shh, don't speak," I say.

I slide my right arm behind her back to support her and then lift the glass to her lips, but she only stares up at me, wide-eyed.

"It's not poison. Drink it."

She doesn't trust me. I can see it in her eyes, and it's killing me.

"Look, Granger, I'm sorry. I didn't have any other options. But if you don't drink this potion, you're gonna die. So please, drink it. I did _not_ spring you from that cell for you to die in my bed."

Her eyes are still fixed on mine distrustfully, but she parts her lips, and I begin to pour the liquid into her mouth. She winces at the flavor, and I pull the glass away to let her try to get used to the taste.

I had to drink this potion three times a day for two days after the fight with Blaise. Aunt Bella always said that I barely had a few drops of blood left in my body when she found me. To this day, I still remember exactly how awful it tasted—sharp, bitter, metallic.

Then she nods, and I tip the glass back toward her. She drinks until the glass is empty.

The potion works quickly—already she is regaining her natural skin tone.

I place the empty glass on the nightstand and gently lay her back down against the pillows. She groans in pain and closes her eyes.

"Get some sleep, Granger."

As I slide my hand out from beneath her, her hand wraps around my wrist, stopping me. I freeze, half-standing, and slowly lower myself back down to sit on the bed.

My mind blanks, but for some reason, my mouth knows what to say.

"You'll be fine. I'll stay right here."

She opens her eyes a little to look at me.

"Thank you," she whispers.

I sigh. "Don't mention it."

Her eyes close again, and I can tell she's already unconscious.

Fucking hell, when did I become such a bloody fool? Sitting here like an idiot, watching her sleep before she even _asked_ me to.

But I would have come back to watch over her anyway, whether she wanted me here or not.

Her eyebrows furrow, and her eyes begin to move rapidly beneath her closed eyelids.

Is she dreaming?

Her expression grows desperate, and she twitches.

"I'm here, Granger. Calm down, I'm here."

She seems to hear my voice, but she still looks terrified out of her mind. Her hand squeezes my wrist tightly, cutting off circulation to my hand. Fuck.

I kick my socks and shoes off and shrug off the heavy Death Eater robes that I'm still wearing, using a quick spell to get them around my wrist without forcing her to let go. Beneath the robes I'm wearing a pair of designer pants—I'd never go to sleep in them. But I don't exactly have the luxury of changing for bed, at the moment.

Her hand tightens like a vice around my wrist. I've already lost feeling in my fingers.

I slide under the covers beside her and use my free hand to pull her over to face me, pressing her into my chest.

"Calm down, Granger—and if you can hear me, _please_ let go of my hand. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

She turns her face into my chest, and I feel that her cheeks are wet. She's _crying_. Oh, Merlin. I've never been good with crying girls even when they were _awake_, let alone asleep.

I pat her back with my free left hand, praying that she'll let go of my right hand soon. I find her right hand and pull it around my back. Maybe she'll do the same with her left hand on her own.

Thankfully, a moment later, her left hand joins her right. She pulls herself closer to me, burrowing into my chest, and my heart seems to swell.

Fuck.

I wrap my arms around her and flex my right hand experimentally. Well, at least it looks like I won't be losing my fingers.

I press my nose into her hair and inhale. Despite the time she spent in that filthy cell, her hair still retains that fresh, subtle fragrance that I noticed back when we met at the headquarters of the Order.

I place a soft kiss on the top of her head and close my eyes.

I don't think I've ever felt so complete before.

It's a pity that she'll hate me once she remembers everything that I did to her.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This chapter is a bit longer than my average chapter because it was originally two separate chapters—the original cut-off was Bellatrix's line, "You're in love." I thought it was the best place to stop, for effect. But then the chapter would be too short, and there wouldn't be much new in this update. And then I'd feel guilty, boo hoo.

Hopefully this was believable… review! I'm anxious to find out what you guys think about this chapter.


	35. Chapter 35 H

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter—I only just took my stat midterm this morning. I feel like I did pretty awful, but a lot of my classmates had looks on their faces that matched how I felt, so I'm guessing there's going to be a pretty big curve…

Anyway, I have a gigantic math hw assignment due tomorrow morning that I've been putting off to study for stat, but I decided to take some time out to revise the next chapter for you guys, so here it is! (:

**Chapter 35**

Ugh.

I hurt everywhere. Everywhere.

My eyes are forced open. Light pierces them, and I blink a few times weakly. Strong arms pull me up into a sitting position, and I look up into a pair of silvery-grey eyes.

"Malfoy?"

Oh god, I sound like an old crone.

"Shh, don't speak."

Of course _his_ voice sounds beautiful, soft and velvety.

I try to support my own weight but find that my muscles aren't strong enough. His arm catches me, and I lean back against it. I can hardly even keep my own head upright, and his shoulder looks extremely tempting. I'd just have to tilt my head a tiny bit to the left…

Then I see that he's holding up a glass of liquid. One whiff, and I know that it's a strengthened Blood Replenishing Potion. Where did he get it? And then I realize that I'm not in the prison cell anymore. I look up at him, surprised.

"It's not poison," he says. "Drink it."

I wonder if this is a trick. Or maybe a blissful dream. Merlin, if I wake up in a few minutes and find myself back in that cell, I think I'm going to kill myself.

"Look, Granger, I'm sorry. I didn't have any other options. But if you don't drink this potion, you're gonna die. So please, drink it. I did _not_ spring you from that cell for you to die in my bed."

His bed? _His_ bed? This is beginning to feel more and more like a dream to me.

But dream or not, I might as well enjoy freedom while I can, and suffering from blood loss is certainly no way to enjoy a dream. I try to open my mouth wide enough for him to pour the potion in.

It tastes awful, but I'm sure it's not half as bad as Skele-Gro—with Skele-Gro, the smell alone is enough to make me want to hurl.

At long last, the glass is empty, and Malfoy sets it down. His arm slowly moves downward until I'm lying back on the bed, and I feel some stinging as the potion begins to work on me.

"Get some sleep, Granger," he says as I close my eyes.

His arm begins to slide out from under me, but I reach out to catch it.

As pathetic as it is, I don't want to be alone. The lusty expressions of Montague and his three friends are still clear in my mind's eye, and honestly, I'm terrified out of my mind.

Please don't go, Malfoy. Please don't go.

"You'll be fine. I'll stay right here," he says, answering my silent plea.

Can he read minds now? Is that it? Well, I don't care as long as he doesn't leave.

With a mountain of effort, I crack my eyes open and see that he's watching me. "Thank you," I say.

"Don't mention it."

My eyelids suddenly become too heavy, and the world fades away.

* * *

My eyes pop open, and I look around.

The wall directly in front of me is painted Slytherin green. The cloth directly below my cheek—sheets, I realize—is a darker shade of green, with matching covers.

I'm in a bed.

_What?_

I thought I was… but then memories flood into my head.

Malfoy was torturing me—I shudder and try to block out the memories of the pain—but he… and somehow I was in a bed—this bed, I presume, and he had that potion for me…

_Merlin_, how long was I asleep? Why is it that I can't remember anything clearly?

I let out a small sigh and hear a sleepy groan in response, right behind my head.

I freeze.

That voice…

Am I in bed with _Malfoy?_

Then I realize that there's an arm draped over me and another beneath my neck. I shift with the intention of moving away, but those arms tighten around me, pulling me back into his body.

Oh god, there's something hard nudging between my thighs from behind.

I inhale sharply as the hand attached to the arm that was draped over me begins gently kneading my breast, and I realize that I'm only covered by the thin robe that Malfoy conjured for me back in prison. I know that I should stop him, but then his thumb rubs my nipple, and a bolt of pleasure lances through me.

I shouldn't let him touch me like this.

"Malfoy?" I hiss.

There's no response—he must still be asleep.

His thumb continues to toy with my nipple, and I close my eyes, giving in to the foreign but fascinatingly pleasurable feelings that are flaring to life low in my belly.

Then his hand leaves my breast, and a feeling of dissatisfaction threatens to overwhelm me.

His large hand cruises down along my side, and I feel his hot breaths against my ear. I shiver involuntarily as anticipation ties my stomach in a knot. His hand stops moving downward at the hem of my robes and slips underneath.

I really should stop him now.

He was just _torturing_ me, not so long ago. I can't just…

But his hand slowly travels up the inside of my thigh, rubbing in circles, and I can't bring myself to wake him. I just want so badly to _feel_… is that a crime?

My breath hitches in my throat when his fingertips find a particularly sensitive nub and brush over it, so lightly that it's almost painful. Then the pad of his thumb presses against it, sending a jolt of liquid heat through my core.

I sigh.

Oh, _yes_.

His hand shifts a little, and I feel a long finger running along my slit, teasing but never entering.

No one has ever touched me this way before, and I find that it feels so much more intense than it does in my dreams.

His thumb continues its maddening work on my bundle of nerves, and I inhale sharply, trying hard not to make a sound.

Then two fingers suddenly plunge into me, stretching me out, and I gasp. Oh, my _god!_

His fingers begin to pump at a torturously slow pace, and his thumb slows its rubbing to match the rhythm set by his fingers. I buck my hips against his hand, trying to speed him up, and he chuckles breathily by my ear, closing his mouth around my earlobe and sucking gently.

Merlin, if he wakes up and stops now, I think I'll kill him.

Just as that thought crosses my mind, he strokes some very sensitive spot inside of me, and I can't hold back the moan that erupts from my throat.

He stiffens behind me, and his hand freezes, his fingers still inside me.

Damn, he's awake. I just know it.

Then he rolls away from me to lie flat on his back.

"Fuck, Granger. Why didn't you stop me?"

My cheeks are flaming, probably hot enough to fry an egg on. I don't have an answer for him. I can't even think up an answer for myself. Why _didn't_ I stop him?

I don't know, I don't know, I don't _know!_

All I know is that there's a burning need between my legs, and I want him in there. Now.

His right arm slips out from beneath my neck, and I turn to see that he's clapped his right hand over his face.

I don't know what to say. I can't speak for my action—or rather, my _lack_ of action.

So instead, I take the easy way out and blame him.

"Malfoy… does your body just… do _that_… on its own?"

"Do what?" he mutters.

"You know what I mean."

Then he's on his feet, agitatedly running a hand through his messy white-blond hair, and I get my first glimpse of him with his shirt off.

Suddenly it feels like there's a lot less oxygen in the room.

He's sculpted, but not too bulky, and his skin is absolutely flawless. He turns, and at this angle, I can see his front. Nice abs and well-defined obliques. The only mark on this perfection is that long, thick scar that twists across his chest. I see now that it ends just above his right hip.

"Granger, you're staring."

My face flushes again and I turn my head the other way swiftly. Whoa… perhaps too swiftly. My head swims, and Malfoy's suddenly sitting on the bed beside me. He holds up a small stone for me to look at.

"Is that a bezoar?" I ask.

He nods.

"Why would I need—"

"The spell that hit you completely severed your carotid artery. I repaired the damage with the countercurse, but I did it in a hurry. I'm not taking any chances, so you're going to have to swallow this."

I stare at him and shake my head, slowly this time so I won't hurt myself. "That's such a waste! Bezoars are very rare, and they can undo most poisons. I wasn't even poisoned."

"They're not only used as antidotes, Granger, you know that."

"But I—"

"Humor me."

I sit up, but it takes a lot of effort. Did I really lose that much blood? I'm still so weak.

Then, as though sensing that I'm having difficulty staying up, he shifts to sit slightly behind me so that I can lean back on his shoulder. My skin seems to go up in flames at the contact—the thin fabric of my robes is the only thing separating us.

For one insane moment, I want to feel his skin rubbing against mine, and I immediately feel myself growing wet at the unholy images that flash through my head. What's gotten into me?

He holds out his hand, the small stone sitting in the middle of his palm.

"Well, I can't just swallow it as is," I say reluctantly.

I glance up at him in time to see him smirk, and my body temperature seems to heat up abnormally quickly. Merlin, please help me.

He concentrates on the bezoar, which quickly shrinks to the size of a pill.

"Better?"

I nod, watching him warily. He seems perfectly comfortable with wandless, nonverbal magic. I lift my arm to take the pill from him, but even that simple motion seems to require a ridiculously disproportionate amount of effort.

He shakes his head, and I let my arm drop with a sigh. I open my mouth, and he pops the bezoar in. He produces a glass of water and holds it to my lips.

Why is he taking such good care of me? Maybe he feels guilty for torturing me.

_Or_ maybe he's still under Voldemort's orders, and he staged a rescue. Maybe that's why I can't remember anything.

Then I start to remember parts of the exchange I'd caught between Malfoy and Bellatrix in the dungeon.

He settles me back down in bed and leans over to pull the covers back up over me, and I take the chance to observe his face while he's not looking at me. I haven't ever seen such a caring side of him. Then his face turns back towards me, and I rapidly avert my eyes.

"I have to go," I say. "I have to get back to Grimmauld Place."

"No. I haven't made sure that it's safe. If Mundungus got away—"

"You got my message," I realize.

Malfoy nods. "If he got away, then your headquarters could be compromised."

"Oh, and this mysterious place is somehow safer? Death Eaters won't come knocking?"

Where _is_ this place, anyway?

"No. No, they won't."

"How can this _possibly_ be safer than—"

"It's under the Fidelius Charm," Malfoy says, interrupting me.

"Oh, and you're a Secret Keeper. Is that it?"

"Yes, actually."

"How many other Secret Keepers are there?"

"None."

"Then… how many people have you—"

"None. I've never taken anyone here, other than you."

I falter. "But…"

Bellatrix's argument that Malfoy _does_ care about me is starting to look more and more like the truth. And I'm terrified of what that could mean.

"How do you expect me to believe you?" I say. "You tortured me!"

I shudder again, remembering the pain that consumed me.

"Frankly, I don't care whether or not you believe me. But you're not leaving here until you've made a full recovery. I don't think that one bezoar was enough. Don't you feel how weak you are?"

He sounds angry.

I glare at him. "One bezoar is enough. And that was already a waste."

"Well I don't mind _wasting_ another one. I've got plenty extra," he says heatedly.

He stalks out of the room without another word, effectively ending the conversation. That was probably just one of the most ridiculous disagreements I've ever had with anyone. I suspect that he's so concerned with my recovery because it's his fault that I'm so hurt.

But is it really his fault? During the interrogation, I ignored the first time that my necklace burned me, and when I checked his second message, he'd clearly been trying to warn me. Maybe I've been thinking too much about his motives. But it's hard not to suspect someone who was torturing me with a curse that hurts even worse than the Torture Curse.

I bite my lip. I'm safe now, aren't I? And I clearly remember that he gave me a Blood Replenishing Potion last night. He could easily have let me bleed out in the dungeons—I should give him the benefit of the doubt.

I sigh and force myself up into a sitting position. It already isn't as hard as it was a minute ago. That's a good sign, isn't it? I shove the covers off me and swing my legs around, letting them hang off the bed.

I can do this.

I push myself onto my feet. My legs manage to support me for a few wobbly moments, but then they give out, and I fall heavily to the ground.

Oh, it hurts.

Malfoy appears in the doorway, takes in my state, and turns to leave again.

"Malfoy, wait. I'm sorry," I say. "Please, help me."

I can't get up. Why am I so ridiculously weak? It was just blood loss! Unless… I've never heard of a curse called Sectumvasculus before. Maybe a side effect is weakening of the victim.

Then Malfoy's walking towards me, shaking his head. He squats down and easily lifts me up in his arms. He still doesn't have a shirt on, and being held against his bare chest affects me much more than it should. He sets me down on the bed, just as gently as before, and I look at his face, searching for answers.

"Stay put," he says gruffly.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

"To your headquarters. I'm going to tell them that you'll be staying with me for the next few days."

"Next few _days?_" I repeat aloud. "I never said—"

"Don't argue with me," he says as he gets dressed. "You just stay right there. Don't make me Stun you."

I remember the protective charm still hanging around my throat. "Malfoy, _can_ you Stun me?"

He frowns. "I'll be back."

"We're going to have a long talk when you get back," I say.

"No, I don't think so," he says. "Bye, Granger."

Then he's gone, and I glare at the spot where he was last standing. I'll be asking him some questions when he returns, and I won't rest until I get answers.

But the most important one probably won't roll off my tongue—I can't even imagine speaking it aloud.

Does he truly care for me?

* * *

**Author's Note:** Next chapter will probably go up tomorrow, but I'm not making any promises! ;)

Thanks for reading.


	36. Chapter 36 D

**Author's Note:** Here's the next chapter, in our dear Draco's point of view (:

**Chapter 36**

There's a loud moan. Suddenly everything feels too real, and I open my eyes.

Holy fuck.

I'd just been dreaming about fingering her. I can't believe that I _actually_…

I freeze, two of my fingers still pressed in that slick groove, and her body goes rigid. She knows I'm awake, which means that she's awake.

For the love of God, Draco, _what are you doing?_

I pull my fingers out of her and roll onto my back.

"Fuck, Granger," I groan. "Why didn't you stop me?"

I silently cast a Scouring Charm on my fingers—even now, I'm tempted to lick them, just to get a taste of her. I pull my right hand out from beneath her head and cover my face. I don't think I can look at her right now. Why didn't she stop me?

"Malfoy… does your body just… do that… on its own?" I hear her ask tentatively.

No! Fuck, no! I only lose control over my own actions when it comes to _her_. But I can't tell her _that_.

"Do what?"

"You know what I mean," she says quietly.

I can't just lie here. I get up and take a few steps away from the bed, running a hand through my hair. I should probably apologize. After being almost-raped just a few hours ago, I'm sure the last thing she'd want is to be touched in that way. Yet I can't get the words to come out—she didn't stop me.

I turn around and notice that her eyes are fixed on me. Just seeing the way she's looking at me makes me want to take her right here. I force myself to think of less pleasurable things to subdue my erection. An image of the giant oaf Hagrid surfaces in my mind, and I feel a lot better.

But she's still looking at me. I can practically _feel_ her eyes raking over my torso.

"Granger, you're staring."

I watch as her cheeks redden, and her head turns away.

Then I notice the bezoar still sitting on the dresser and step over to pick it up. I sit on the bed, and she turns her face towards me.

"Is that a bezoar?" she asks, looking at the stone.

I nod in response.

"Why would I need—"

"The spell that hit you completely severed your carotid artery," I explain. "I repaired the damage with the countercurse, but I did it in a hurry. I'm not taking any chances, so you're going to have to swallow this."

She shakes her head, looking at me as though I've gone mad. "That's such a waste!" she protests. "Bezoars are very rare, and they can undo most poisons. I wasn't even poisoned."

"They're not only used as antidotes, Granger, you know that."

"But I—"

"Humor me," I say firmly.

She sighs and sits up, but I know she won't be able to stay upright for long on her own. I shift behind her and use my shoulder to support her weight. Fuck, I should have conjured a thicker robe for her. The part of me that comes into contact with her is burning, and I wonder what she would do if I thrust a finger into her right now.

My cock twitches at the thought, and again I try to think of something else—_anything_ else. The thought of Macnair quickly subdues any physical excitement that had been stirring inside me, and I feel relieved.

I open my hand and show her the bezoar sitting in my palm. I'm not going to give in.

"Well, I can't just swallow it as is," she says quietly.

I smirk. I knew she'd cave eventually. I shrink the bezoar to the size of a small pill.

"Better?" I ask, looking at her.

She nods, but I can see that she's thinking hard. I wonder what exactly is going through her head.

Then her eyes shift to the miniature bezoar in my palm, and I notice that she's lifting her arm. I shake my head. Her arm falls back to her side, and she opens her mouth. I place the bezoar in her mouth and reach behind me to get the empty glass that I'd used for the potion last night. The glass fills with water at my command, and I hold it to her lips to help her swallow the pill.

After she swallows it, I put the glass back on the nightstand and help her lie down. Then I reach out to pull the covers up and over her. She'll be all right, but my chest still clenches with worry at how weak she is. Another bezoar ought to do it.

I look at her face in time to see her quickly turning her eyes away. Before I can comment, she speaks up.

"I have to go. I have to get back to Grimmauld Place."

"No," I say. "I haven't made sure that it's safe. If Mundungus got away—"

"You got my message," she says, sounding surprised.

I nod. "If he got away, then your headquarters could be compromised."

Yeah, I'm just using that as an excuse. I'm sure Mundungus couldn't have gotten away with all those people watching over him. I just don't want Granger to leave, now that she's here.

"Oh, and this mysterious place is somehow safer?" she asks. "The Death Eaters won't come knocking?"

"No," I say. "No, they won't."

"How can this _possibly_ be safer than—"

Bugger secrecy. "It's under the Fidelius Charm," I say.

"Oh, and you're a Secret Keeper. Is that it?"

"Yes, actually."

"How many other Secret Keepers are there?"

"None."

"Then… how many people have you—"

"None. I've never taken anyone here, other than you."

Maybe I shouldn't have told her that. But I'm so tired of keeping secrets. And it's about time I let her know that I don't want to hurt her. It's absolutely critical if I still want to maintain any sort of a friendship—my chest clenches painfully at the damned word—with her, especially after being forced to torture her.

"But…" she says, looking away. "How do you expect me to believe you? You tortured me!"

I sigh. I'd expected that. I'm actually surprised that it took her this long to bring it up. But the words, as prepared for them as I was, still hurt me much more than I'd anticipated. Fuck.

"Frankly, I don't care whether or not you believe me," I say. My words come out harsher than I'd meant them to, but it's easier to hide my emotions this way. "But you're not leaving here until you've made a full recovery. I don't think one bezoar was enough. Don't you feel how weak you are?"

"One bezoar is enough," she says, glaring at me. "And that was already a waste."

"Well I don't mind _wasting_ another one. I've got plenty extra," I say irritably.

I walk out of the room before she can say anything. I don't want to fight, but I can't seem to help it. She's got me on the defensive. I'm too distracted to hide anything right now. Fucking hell, I used to have so much control over myself.

I stand still in the living room, glaring at nothing in particular. She doesn't seem to be as angry about being tortured as I'd expected her to. I hope that it's because she understands my situation, but that seems too good to be true.

Then there's a loud crash, and I rush back into the bedroom. She's sprawled on the floor, wincing in pain. She looks up, and our eyes meet for a moment. I immediately turn away, afraid that my eyes will give me away.

I start to exit the room, but her voice stops me.

"Malfoy, wait. I'm sorry. Please, help me."

I resist the urge to hang my head in defeat. Just two words. One simple, two-word apology, and I can't muster up one ounce of anger to convince myself to just leave this room. I'm fucking doomed. I turn back around, hating how much power she has over me.

I squat down and slide my arms beneath her small body. It's too easy to lift her up. She's so light… and then I realize that she must not have eaten for some time. I wish she'd said something.

I put her down carefully and pull the covers back over her again.

"Stay put."

"Where are you going?" she asks me.

"To your headquarters. I'm going to tell them that you'll be staying with me for the next few days."

"Next few _days?_" she repeats incredulously. "I never said—"

"Don't argue with me. You just stay right there. Don't make me Stun you," I say, pulling my Death Eaters robes on.

She looks at me quizzically. "Malfoy, _can_ you Stun me?"

I frown. Yes, yes I could, if I really wanted to. It's my charm, so I can force it to make exceptions in my presence. "I'll be back," I say, avoiding her question.

"We're going to have a long talk when you get back," she says.

"No, I don't think so," I say. "Bye, Granger."

With that, I Apparate to the doorstep of Grimmauld Place.

Blaise is the one who answers the door when I knock.

"Draco," he says. "Where's Hermione?"

I spot Potter approaching and say, "Otter."

"What?" Blaise says, confused.

"Potter told me to choose a word to prove that it's really me. That was the first one that came to mind," I say, shoving past him and into the grungy house.

"Did you get Hermione out of there?" Potter asks.

"Yes. She's pretty badly injured, so she'll be staying with me for a few days."

"Who says?" the weasel demands, appearing from the kitchen.

"I do. She's too hurt to go anywhere. I came to let you know that she's safe."

"_Safe?_ How can she be _safe_ if she's with _you?_" Weasley says angrily.

"Well, she's staying with me whether you like it or not, and there's nothing you can do about it."

He reaches for his wand, furious, but Potter shakes his head.

"Would you look at that, Weasley's exercising some self-control," I say.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Weasley mutters.

"Can we at least visit her?" Blaise asks, moving to stand in front of me so that he can see my face.

"No."

"Why not?" Potter asks, frowning.

I don't want to let _you_ into my home, that's why!

"You just can't," I say. "I'll bring her back when she's recovered. You'll have to be satisfied with that. It's the most I can promise you."

"What about Lupin? And have you heard anything about Alicia and Lee?"

"Haven't heard anything," I say, shaking my head.

Then I feel the burn on my left forearm, something I haven't felt for a while—Voldemort hasn't summoned us with the Mark in a very long time.

"I have to go."

"Wait. We want to see Hermione," Potter says.

I look at the three men facing me and shake my head.

I've always known that Weasley was interested in Granger. But the last time I mentioned him in front of her, she said that he wasn't her 'dear Ronald'. Potter I know is interested in the She-Weasel, but he and Granger are best friends. Blaise… it seems that he's developed some feelings for her.

"I'll bring her back later. Now I really have to go."

I start to turn away, but a hand grabs onto my upper arm, and I turn to see that Blaise is the one stopping me from leaving.

"Let go," I say.

"No. Take us to Hermione."

"There are some things that are more important than you getting to see your friend, all right? If I blow my cover, people are gonna die," I say calmly.

"How the fuck does taking us to Hermione have anything to do with—" Weasley begins.

I tug up my sleeve to show them the Dark Mark, jet black against my pale skin.

"I_ have _to go," I repeat. "Understand now?"

Blaise releases my arm, and I leave the room without another word.

Outside on the doorstep, I curse mentally and Apparate to my room in the Manor. I'll give myself a minute to settle my thoughts and prepare to meet with Voldemort. He'll want to know what happened in that dungeon.

I'm certain that Blaise is seriously interested in Granger. Weasley isn't much of a threat—she doesn't seem interested in him at all. But Blaise… I remember the concerned expression I saw on her face through the Spying Charm when he was hurt. She cares about him. If she knew that he wanted her, would she reciprocate those feelings?

A wave of envy washes over me as I realize that she probably would. He stayed with the right side, was so adamant about it that he gave up his best friend and his family. Meanwhile, I chose to join my parents in serving the Dark Lord. I handed Theo to the Death Eaters, made him into one of us. I killed Seamus Finnegan, and a number of others before him.

She would never choose me.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I don't remember exactly how the Dark Mark worked in the books, or the movie, for that matter, but I decided that in my story, it's only used for summoning all Death Eaters at once; to contact specific Death Eaters, Voldemort has to use other methods.


	37. Chapter 37 D

**Author's Note:** I found out that I have another midterm next Friday, darn. But at least this one's math. I like math :)

Anyway, I'm really anxious to see what you guys think about this chapter. I wanted to reply to your reviews for the last chapter, but there are so many more than I'm used to. Thank you so much!

**Chapter 37**

I appear in the cavernous room, enchanted to accommodate all of the extra people in attendance today. Our numbers really have swelled enormously. I move swiftly to the table placed on a platform at one end of the room, where the Death Eaters closest to the Dark Lord sit. I take my place, standing behind my father, and nod to Theo, Vince, and Greg, all of whom have taken their places behind their fathers.

Aunt Bella sits to my father's left, in the first seat to the right of Voldemort's empty, high-backed chair. I look around at the members sitting at the table. To my father's right are Mulciber, Nott Sr., Avery, and Travers. Across the table, starting from Voldemort's left, are Macnair, Dolohov, Rowle, Crabbe Sr., Goyle Sr., and an empty chair that used to belong to Yaxley—as I think his name, I remember the moment when I took his life, in the Forbidden Forest.

The room is somewhat quiet, keeping to a low rumble as the occupants have their conversations.

"Where have you _been?_" Aunt Bella demands, turning her head to look at me. "I woke up in that cell and saw that you and the Mudblood were both gone. And I couldn't remember a damned thing."

I frown. "I woke up not an hour ago, same thing. Didn't remember a thing about what happened."

Aunt Bella looks worried, and I know that she believes me. Looks like the Memory Charm worked just fine.

"The Order must have come to rescue her," she says.

"I honestly can't see how they could have overpowered both of you without alerting the sentries outside. It'd take several very skilled duelists to defeat the two of you, and it's not easy to get past that many guards without being seen," Father says.

"A powerful Confundus Charm might have gotten them through. And Disillusionment Charms, of course," Aunt Bella theorizes.

"What did the sentries say?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "I haven't spoken to them yet."

"I have," Father says. "Their stories are inconsistent. I—"

His voice fades as a cloud of black smoke appears behind Voldemort's chair. The room rapidly falls silent as the Dark Lord materializes from the dark wisps. Impressive stillness fills the room—it's as though no one's even _breathing_ anymore.

Voldemort looks around the table. "It's been some time since I summoned all of you here. Over a year, in fact. I still see you, some more than others, but it is… _pleasant_ to have you all here. There are some arrangements to be made today, things that I should have dealt with some time ago. But first…"

He pauses and gets to his feet.

"…I want to see your faces."

As he finishes, he waves his hand once at the mass of Death Eaters standing at ground level in the crowded room, and their masks float away from their faces. Many Death Eaters look startled.

Then he's gliding down toward his followers.

"So many new faces. So many new recruits," he comments. "I am disappointed that so many, however, did not answer the call of the Mark. Take note of who among you is missing. Each absentee is to be executed on sight."

He strides fluidly among the crowd, looking at their faces. He pauses in front of one man.

"Why do you tremble?" he asks. When he receives no response, he says, "I asked you a question."

"I-I-I'm inti-ti-timidated, sir."

"Stuttering, gutless imbecile," Voldemort hisses, sneering.

He takes the man's wrist, draws up the sleeve, and presses his thumb to the Mark. The man gasps, terrified. Then the light fades from his eyes, and he falls to the ground.

"I have no use for him," Voldemort says, continuing his pace.

I notice two men moving through the crowd, trying to get to the exits—they must have realized by now that there is no way to Disapparate from this room.

"Leaving so soon, gentlemen?" the Dark Lord says in a low whisper that still echoes around the room.

Before there's any sort of response, a cloud of black smoke envelops one man, and then moves on to the other. They both crumple to the floor, lifeless.

"That is to remind you all of my presence," Voldemort says, reappearing at the head of the table.

Heads whip around to face him when they find the source of his voice.

He continues, "Let those three deaths remind you that though your Marks may not have been drawn by my own hand, once Marked, your lives belong to me."

The sea of Death Eaters falls to its knees as one.

"Yes, My Lord," the crowd thunders.

Voldemort takes his seat and gives them permission to stand.

"Now that's out of the way," he says. "I heard of an unfortunate event that occurred early this morning, in the Dartmoor camp."

Again, tension in the room rises, and it seems that everyone has heard about the escape.

There's only been one other successful escape, also the result of an inside job. Some former Hogwarts students were smuggled out by Oliver Wood. I had been surprised and a little doubtful when I found out that the Gryffindor had gone dark side. Turns out that my doubts weren't unfounded.

About a year and a half ago, only a month after the first escape, Mulciber caught Wood trying to release a second group of prisoners. He turned him in to Voldemort, whose rage was uncontrollable. The Dark Lord called a meeting, similar to this one, and punished him in front of all of his followers.

The punishment was severe, almost legendary, supposed to serve as a warning to anyone who might be considering betrayal. Wood was skinned alive, slowly and painfully, kept alive and conscious by some horrid spell that I didn't even know existed. Then his body was ripped apart, limb from limb. Finally, Voldemort allowed two Acromantulas into the room to fight over and eat the pieces.

Thankfully, I had been recovering from a skirmish and was allowed to miss that meeting. Aunt Bella described the whole episode in great detail, but hearing about it was much better than having to see it first hand, I'm sure.

Then Voldemort's voice reminds me of where I am.

"I'd hate to think that we have another traitor, but it's difficult to come to any other conclusion, given the circumstances," he says.

He snaps his fingers, and the eight sentries on duty this morning step out from the crowd and onto the platform, terrified that their bodies are moving without input from their minds. Then eight chairs appear, and they sit down facing the table, with their backs to the crowd. Chains extend from the back, arms, and legs of the chair, binding them in place.

"Bellatrix, Draco, the two of you were the last to enter the girl's cell, yes?"

Without any further prompting from Voldemort, I back away from the table and move around to stand in front of the eight sentries. Aunt Bella does the same, standing to my right. When we're strapped in as tightly as the guards behind us, Voldemort gives us a pained expression.

"It hurts me to even _think _that either of the two of you could _possibly_ be involved in the Mudblood's escape. Zabini's disappearance is linked to hers, and as he was your best friend, the circumstances are not in your favor, Draco."

"I'm aware, My Lord," I say.

Voldemort nods. "Explain."

I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. I told Granger that I'd be back, so I _will_ be back.

"Early this morning, my aunt and I went to torture Hermione Granger. When we arrived, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. I only got about one minute into torturing her, and that's all I can remember," I say, lying steadily.

I keep eye contact with Voldemort while I'm speaking, refusing to let my gaze waver. His expression is cold, calculating.

"Bellatrix, do you remember anything to the contrary?" he asks.

"No, My Lord."

After a brief pause, he addresses the leader of the sentries.

"Skellan, you were in charge yesterday. What do _you_ remember?"

"I… I only remember rushing down and fighting. There were dozens—"

"Dozens?" he repeats softly, a mocking expression crossing his face. "And how, may I ask, did _dozens_ of enemies slip by you and your team?"

"I… I don't know, My Lord. It's all I can remember," Skellan says.

"Clearly, someone in the Order is talented with Memory Charms," Voldemort muses. "Bellatrix, when you awoke, what did you see?"

Aunt Bella clears her throat before speaking. "There was blood all over the ground. My wand was discarded by my feet. I was alone in the cell—the Mudblood was already gone, as was Draco."

Hisses and murmurs sound throughout the crowd, but I can only pick out one word.

Traitor.

"Silence," Voldemort hisses, and the room quiets down obediently. "What was outside?"

"All of the sentries were unconscious, and the door to Zabini's cell was open," Aunt Bella reports. "I saw nothing else."

"It appears that all suspicion falls upon you, Draco," Voldemort says sternly. "Where did you go?"

"I didn't wake up in the cell—I was in the middle of a field. I don't remember how I got there," I lie. "I presume that I chased some member of the Order and may have been taken by Side-Along Apparition when they tried to escape."

Voldemort frowns at me, but I don't falter. His eyes shift to Aunt Bella, and they maintain eye contact for a long moment. A heavy silence falls over the room.

Finally, the chains around Aunt Bella retract into the chair, and she gets to her feet.

"Return to your seat," Voldemort commands.

She does so quickly and silently. I look up to meet the Dark Lord's eyes.

"You and your godfather may not be related by blood, but you possess the same talent. I cannot trust you to open your mind fully," he says, shaking his head.

"Is that your verdict, then?" I ask.

Another long, pregnant silence settles over the room. I force all doubtful thoughts out of my head, waiting for Voldemort to enter my mind. But although we keep eye contact, he stays out. I start to get the feeling that he's waiting for me to break or simply admit that I'm a traitor. Well fuck, he's not going to get the answer out of me _that_ way.

Finally, almost three full minutes later, he answers my question.

"Fortunately, no."

A wave of relief washes over me, but I don't allow it to show.

"I have another way to test your loyalty," he says.

He waves his hand once, and the chains retract on my chair as well. I get to my feet but don't leave the spot, waiting for whatever test he has in store for me.

No fear. I must have no fear. Fear will prove that I have something to hide.

Voldemort nods to Macnair, who gets to his feet and exits the room. He returns not a minute later with a woman in tow, a bag over her head.

The glimmer of a gold chain around her neck catches my eye, a sharp contrast to the filthy rags that she's clothed in. Dread fills my gut, but my face remains a mask—it could have been carved of stone.

Macnair forces her down on her knees a few paces away from me and yanks the bag off her head.

Sure enough, Granger's wide, brown eyes stare up into mine before darting around the room, horrified by the mass of Death Eaters beyond the platform.

I manage a smirk. "You recaptured her so quickly, My Lord."

She's still looking around with wild eyes and a fear that's uncharacteristic of the Granger I know. It's clear that she can't move of her own volition.

"The easiest way to prove that you did not set her free is for you to kill her, right now," Voldemort says.

"Yes, My Lord."

Two steps bring me right in front of her. She's quaking with fear, but I maintain my dispassionate exterior, not allowing that frightened look on her face to affect me.

I reach down and tug the gold charm out from beneath her rags.

It's cold as ice.

I smirk.

"Surely, if your little trinket can't protect you from the Torture Curse, it won't do you much good against the Killing Curse."

I point my wand at her forehead.

"Avada Kedavra!"


	38. Chapter 38 D

**Author's Note:** I didn't think that I'd be updating again so soon, but it was this or math homework, and I really didn't feel like doing homework…

And on a completely unrelated and random note: for the past few days, I have not been able to stop listening to "Running Up That Hill" by Placebo, and "Undisclosed Desires" by Muse. If you haven't heard these songs, you should look them up! They're pretty much amazing.

**Chapter 38**

She falls to the floor, limp, eyes still frozen open in shock and terror. But the color of her irises slowly changes from brown to blue, and her other features begin to shift.

Thank _Merlin_ I was right. There was simply no way they could have gotten to her. No one knows where my true home is. And though the duplicate charm was identical, down to her engraved initials, no one knew the way it was supposed to respond to my touch.

When the transformation is complete, I don't recognize the girl lying at my feet. A practiced look of surprise crosses my face, and I hear gasps as others notice her change in appearance as well.

"Unfortunately, I could not find the real Granger, so I had to make do with a substitute," Voldemort says from the head of the table. "Come, Draco."

I stow my wand away and return to my place behind my father.

Voldemort shakes his head at me. "I said, _come_."

Frowning, I take a few small steps toward him, and he beckons for me to move closer. What the fuck is he playing at? I pass by Aunt Bella's chair and move around the corner of the table. He motions for me to face the same direction as he is, and I realize that almost all eyes are on me.

I look around, resisting the urge to quail under their scrutiny. God, exactly how many people are in this room?

"One of the men who held a place at my table died a few weeks ago at Hogwarts, by the hands of the same Mudblood that escaped yesterday. Yaxley served me well. But now that he's gone, someone will have to take his place."

Oh.

He turns to face me. "I never doubted you."

That's fucking unlikely. Liar.

"Welcome to the Inner Circle, Draco," he says.

I immediately drop to one knee. I don't know why I thought to do it, I just did. "Thank you, My Lord. I live to serve you," I say.

Such generic phrases. It's a wonder that he never gets sick of hearing them. I could certainly go without saying them.

"Take your seat."

I get back to my feet and move around the table to Yaxley's empty chair. I feel a twinge of guilt as I realize that I killed the man who used to sit here. But he was an evil man. Not quite as bad as Macnair, but evil nonetheless. Killing him was doing the world a favor.

I look at the other members sitting at the table. I simply can't believe that I've taken one of these seats. All of these Death Eaters fought alongside Voldemort during the First War, before I was even born.

If Voldemort was telling the truth when he said all those things about handing things over to me if he died… then I suppose this makes sense. Better to ease into it than jump right in and tell them I'm temporarily taking over when he dies so that we can all look for his Horcruxes.

What will I do if he really does die?

If I let the Death Eaters disband and he eventually returns, I'll be at the top of his list of people to kill, after Potter—if he's still alive at that point. If I really do take over… I can't bear the thought of commanding the Death Eaters, becoming a new Dark Lord. I suppose I could do it temporarily, just until we've destroyed his remaining Horcruxes. But aside from the dagger, I have no other clues. And I don't have a way of knowing how many more he's created.

Bloody hell, I'm fucked.

* * *

"Malfoy, is it you?"

Granger's muffled voice travels out from my bedroom, and I enter the room to see her lying right where I left her. Seeing her in my bed reminds me of where my fingers were when I woke up this morning, and all the blood in my body immediately rushes south.

Fuck. I force myself to picture one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts.

"Yeah, it's me."

"I can see that now," she says, rolling her eyes. "What took you so long?"

It's already late in the evening—my father had insisted on having dinner after the meeting with Lord Voldemort. Apparently, there have never been two members with the same last name at the table at once, and it's supposed to be a great honor. I didn't give a shit, but I pretended to be thrilled.

As for the issue with Blaise and Granger's escape, Voldemort transferred his anger onto the incompetent sentries and had all eight of them executed by strangulation, a few minutes after awarding me my seat. The men didn't even have to be moved from the chairs—chains snaked out from behind their heads and did the job swiftly. The memory of their faces as they cried and gasped for air disturbs me, and I try to block the images.

I shake my head. "Don't ask."

"How is everyone at Grimmauld Place?" she asks anxiously.

"I didn't see everyone. Just Blaise, Potter, and your dear weasel."

"Will you _stop_ associating me with Ron?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, does it bother you?"

She looks at me, clearly exasperated. "_Yes!_"

I chuckle. "All right, I'll leave it alone."

"What did they say?" she asks me a moment later.

I shrug. "I don't remember. I didn't care much for whatever they said, anyway."

She sighs.

"They did protest when they heard that I was going to keep you with me."

She looks at me hopefully. "Will you bring me back, then?"

I hate that she's so eager to leave. I feel like my insides are twisting and untwisting painfully. Fuck.

"No," I say stubbornly.

The more she wants to leave, the more adamant I become in my decision to make her stay, even if it's just to spite her. But of course I have selfish reasons too. I can see her more if she stays.

She sighs again, and _that_ sounds seems to hurt me too.

I just can't win with her, can I?

"They did ask to visit," I say without thinking.

Then I wish I could take it back—a smile lights up her face, and I begin to consider using a Memory Charm on her so she won't remember me saying that.

"Can they, Malfoy?" she asks.

That damned hopeful look is on her face again. It's so fucking hard to resist!

"No," I manage to choke out.

"Please? I feel like I haven't seen them in ages."

When it looks like I won't budge, her expression hardens.

"You owe it to me, Malfoy," she says coldly. "You tortured me."

Fuck. I want to rip my heart out of my chest just so I won't have to feel anymore. It hurts too fucking much to hear those words coming out of her mouth in that tone of voice. And after seeing the light fade from her eyes just a few hours ago, I feel like I owe her, even if it wasn't really her life that I took.

"If I bring them here, you can't use that on me anymore," I say.

For the third time, hope shines in her eyes as she smiles at me. "So you'll do it?"

Bloody hell, that conniving witch!

"You did that on purpose."

"Will you?" she asks, ignoring my accusation.

I glare at her. "Fine."

Even as I give my assent, I scream in my head to stop, slow down. Whatever happened to never sharing this place with anyone? This is my _home_.

But I already broke that rule, as soon as I took Granger here.

Granger doesn't count.

Of course she counts.

Fuck! I can't do this anymore.

"Malfoy, are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm about to let a weasel come into my home. I'm bloody fantastic."

She laughs at me, which only makes me angrier.

"Shut up, Granger."

I Disapparate from the room and appear on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place.

There's still time to back out…

No, there isn't. I already told Granger that I'd bring them. And for the same reason that got me into all this madness in the first place, I can't bring myself to disappoint her. I heave a sigh and knock on the door.

Potter appears in the doorway.

"I'm not coming in. Get Blaise and Weasley. Granger wants to see you."

"Still, you should—"

"Otter. There, you happy?"

Potter frowns at my tone of voice but doesn't comment. Instead, he disappears into the house and returns a moment later with Blaise and the weasel.

"I'll take you there by Side-Along Apparition," I say.

"Or you could just tell us where she is. We all know how to Apparate," Potter says.

"I'm not stupid. Of course you know how to Apparate," I snap. "It's under the Fidelius Charm, and I'm never going to speak the location aloud."

Blaise's eyes widen. "You—"

"Yes. It was the only safe place. Now are you all coming with me or not?"

"What's got you in such a pissy mood?" Blaise asks.

I glare at him before turning my back. I feel their hands grabbing onto my arms, and a moment later, we're in my living room.

"Of course it'd be green," Potter comments.

"Where's Hermione?" Weasley asks.

I walk over to my bedroom and push the door open. Potter's the first one to go through the doorway, followed by Weasley. I hear her voice from inside.

"Harry! Ron!"

She sounds so fucking happy to see them. I want to blow my brains out.

"You've really got it bad, haven't you, mate?"

I look up to see Blaise still standing by the coffee table, looking at me.

"Aren't you here to visit her?" I say. "Get in there. I'm not letting you all stay here forever."

Blaise sighs and walks over to me. "I—"

"Get going," I interrupt him.

He shakes his head and goes into the room.

I pull the door closed behind them and wander into the kitchen to find myself a bottle of Firewhiskey. A minute later, I sit down on the couch in the living room and pop open the bottle.

Then I remember that Granger had said something about having a talk when I returned. I have a feeling she was going to ask about the charm—I said something stupid about Stunning her. How could I have let that slip? I don't know what I'll tell her.

Those protective charms… she's going to know they were from me. No dealer would spend that much time making jewelry that could defend the wearer from almost any spell or object that could possibly cause injury. Bloody hell, no _sane_ person would do that. I'm clearly a madman.

I suppose bringing those three over wasn't a complete loss. At least she's distracted. Maybe she'll forget about the whole thing. Maybe she won't ask me anything.

I take a big swig of Firewhiskey and wince as the liquid burns its way down my throat.

Not fucking likely.


	39. Chapter 39 H

**Author's Note:** This is sort of a macho chapter compared to the others, but I didn't feel like cutting it in half because of the repeated scenes. And it was because I combined two other chapters earlier on, and I had to smooth over the bump that that created.

I'm not sure how convincing Hermione is in this chapter… you have no idea how many times I have rewritten her thoughts for these scenes.

That said, I hope you guys like the chapter!

**Chapter 39**

Bored.

So, so bored.

I'm bored out of my _mind_.

Why couldn't Malfoy have thought to leave me a book or something before he left?

I don't have a wand either, so I can't just summon one. I spent a long time today practicing wandless magic, when I had the energy. But I'm still so drained from my injury that I haven't made much progress. I've managed to open the door and slam it shut again, and I can Summon the empty glass to me from the nightstand.

I can now sit up all right, but I'm not willing to give walking a try. It's going to be awful if I fall, can't get up, and have to wait until Malfoy comes back.

He's been gone for _hours_. What can he possibly be doing?

I hope everyone at Grimmauld Place is all right.

My mind wanders, and I find myself thinking about Malfoy again. I still haven't quite figured him out. I remember his steely gaze and the stone-cold-killer face that he put on when he was torturing me. Was that the real him?

My intuition tells me that it _can't_ be the real him. And then my mind launches into a series of memories, as though to convince me that Malfoy would never hurt me intentionally.

I see the way his eyes flamed when he stormed into the cell and saw Montague sitting in the chair with me hovering above him.

I see that concerned expression on his face, the night that he offered to make peace. I hadn't ever seen that look on his face before. It proves that he does care about my well-being, doesn't it?

I see his long lashes, the image that I saw when my eyes flew open in a shocked response to his kiss. My whole mouth tingles as I relive the feeling of his lips and tongue against mine. I've never felt that kind of passion before.

I see the tenderness that escaped during a rare lapse in his cold visage as he pulled the covers over me this morning.

I see the mask, the one that I now recognize as his, facing me deep in the Forbidden Forest. It surfaced in several of my dreams when it was still something I fretted about on a daily basis. He would have died if he got caught setting me free. Especially if they found out that he killed those Death Eaters...

And then he risked his life again, breaking me out of prison. I wonder if he even had any help. I have to get the details from him when he gets back.

This all seems like incontrovertible proof that he…

I can't seem to finish the thought, and it becomes harder for me to swallow.

Does he have feelings for me?

Oh god, I can't imagine speaking those words aloud. I don't think I _can_ ask him. Damn all that so-called Gryffindor bravery to hell—I'm afraid of his reaction.

If he doesn't care for me, which is far more likely, he'll probably scoff and be insulted that I would ever assume something as stupid as _that_ about him. I suppose I can handle that sort of reaction. But if he _does_ care for me… I don't know what I'd do if he admitted to it just like that.

But in all likelihood, I'm worrying myself over nothing. He probably doesn't feel a thing when he looks at me. Except disdain, of course. I'm probably still Mudblood scum to him.

But that's the problem. _Probably_. I _hate_ this uncertainty! I'm usually so straightforward. I say what I mean, and I don't beat around the bush. I just… I don't know if I can do it this time.

I heave a sigh and tell myself to stop thinking about him.

Then I hear a popping sound from the other room.

Finally!

"Malfoy, is it you?" I call out.

A moment later, the door opens. "Yeah, it's me," he says, walking inside.

I roll my eyes. "I can see that now. What took you so long?"

He only shakes his head. "Don't ask."

I try to force the question out—it's like pulling off a bandage, right? Just gotta do it quick. But the words seem to get jammed in my throat, and instead, I blurt out some inconsequential question that doesn't even cross through my mind before slipping out of my mouth.

"I didn't see everyone," he replies.

What did I ask him?

"Just Blaise, Potter, and your deal weasel."

At these words, I'm instantly irritated. "Will you _stop_ associating me with Ron?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, does it bother you?" he asks, smirking.

I sigh. "_Yes!_" I say, exasperated.

He laughs. "All right, I'll leave it alone."

There's a brief silence, during which I resume my struggle with that stupid question. I want to ask it so badly, but I just _can't_. I'm afraid that he'll think he's giving me the wrong impression. Strangely enough, I've grown to like this new Malfoy—as a friend, of course—and I don't want him to revert to his old way of treating me, just because I asked a stupid question.

"What did they say?" I ask him.

Wrong question, wrong question, wrong question! Ugh!

He shrugs, seeming to understand that I mean the boys at Grimmauld Place. "I don't remember," he says. "I didn't care much for whatever they said, anyway."

I sigh. Why am I so pathetic?

"They did protest when they heard that I was going to keep you with me," he says.

I look up at him. "Will you bring me back, then?" I ask.

If he gets me out of here, maybe I'll be able to clear my head. If I spend some time _not_ thinking about him, then maybe I'll be able to ask him the next time I see him, like a normal person.

"No."

The set of his jaw tells me that he won't budge on this issue.

Well, there goes that idea. I sigh again.

"They did ask to visit," he adds a moment later.

I smile at the thought of seeing Harry, Ron, and Blaise again. I don't know exactly how long I was in that cell, but it feels as though it's been forever.

Then I realize that he mentioned that Blaise was at Grimmauld Place. I open my mouth, prepared to thank Malfoy for rescuing Blaise along with me. But upon remembering his reaction the last time I mentioned Blaise in front of him, I swallow my expression of gratitude before I can voice it.

"Can they, Malfoy?" I ask him.

"No."

"Please?" I say, trying to catch his eye. "I feel like I haven't seen them in ages."

He doesn't respond, and I think up a new approach. If he won't respond when I ask nicely, so be it. I'll guilt-trip him into doing it. The old Malfoy would never be susceptible to this, but with this new Malfoy… I think I have a chance.

"You owe it to me, Malfoy," I say, trying to sound angry. "You tortured me."

A flicker of emotion shows in his eyes, but it's gone before I can identify it. All I know is that my words have had some sort of effect on him. Well, _that_ doesn't help me much.

"If I bring them here, you can't use that on me anymore," he says.

It actually worked. I guessed that it might, but the fact that it really did work still surprises me.

"So you'll do it?" I say, smiling hopefully.

There's a pause.

"You did that on purpose."

I ignore his sullen expression. "Will you?" I ask.

He glares at me. "Fine."

I expect him to Disapparate, but he doesn't move. I frown. He has a conflicted look on his face, and I wonder what's going on in that pretty head of his.

"Malfoy, are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm about to let a weasel come into my home. I'm bloody fantastic," he says shortly.

I laugh at the tone in his voice—he sounds like a petulant child who's just been told to go to his room.

"Shut up, Granger," he says.

He Disapparates.

A smile lingers on my face as I picture the look on his face just before his Disapparition.

Who knew that Draco Malfoy could be so adorable?

Not three minutes later, I hear the pop of Apparition outside, followed by some muffled voices. They're here! I sit up and scoot back, leaning against the headboard.

Then the bedroom door opens, and my best friends enter.

"Harry! Ron!" I exclaim, holding out my arms.

Harry leans down and pulls me into a tight hug before backing out of the way so Ron can give me a hug as well.

"I thought I'd never see you two again," I say, trying to blink away the tears of joy that well up in my eyes.

"I'm so glad to see that you're okay," Harry says, sitting on the bed.

Ron perches next to him. "Yeah, Hermione, we were all worried sick. And when Zabini showed up without you—"

"Hey, don't you be talking about me behind my back," Blaise says.

I smile brightly. "Blaise!"

"Outta my way, you two," he says, giving Harry and Ron each a gentle shove.

They stand up to give Blaise room to hug me, and there's a twinge in my chest as I run my hands up and down his back and find that his spine protrudes slightly. He can't have spent much more than a week and a half in the dungeons, yet he's so much thinner. This realization makes me worried for Alicia, Lee, and Lupin.

When he finally releases me, he stays where Harry had been sitting before.

"You stole my spot, Blaise," Harry says in mock anger.

"Yeah well, Hermione doesn't mind."

I laugh. "I missed you, all of you. It's felt like forever."

"It really has," Harry says.

"What happened to you?" Ron asks. "How did you get caught? All Blaise said was that Mundungus betrayed you—he didn't have any details."

"And Lupin… do you know where he is?" Harry chimes in.

"I already told you, she doesn't know," Blaise says.

I shake my head. "Blaise is right. I haven't seen Lupin since I got taken by the Death Eaters. There isn't really much to tell about how I got caught. Mundungus told the Death Eaters where we'd put Rowle and when we were going to interrogate him."

Harry clenches his fist. "Hearing this makes me want to pummel him."

"It won't help," I say.

"Yeah, but it'll make me feel better."

We all share a laugh.

"Hermione, you should come back with us," Ron says.

I smile. "I don't think Malfoy's going to let me."

Blaise looks at me oddly, but he doesn't comment.

"Well, he can't stop us from taking you. Come with us," Ron says.

"Wait a second, Ron," Harry says. He turns to me and asks, "How injured are you?"

"I'm all right," I say. "I'm just weak from blood loss."

"Blood loss?" Blaise says, frowning. "What happened this morning?"

I sigh. "I'm still a little hazy on the details myself. I just remember Malfoy…"

I stop myself. If I say that Malfoy came to torture me, how will the boys react?

"What about Malfoy?" Harry asks suspiciously.

"Did he hurt you?" Ron demands.

"No," I say.

I don't really know why I'm defending him, but it just feels like the right thing to do. I suppose it's because I owe him, after all the things that he's done for me. Then I notice that Blaise is watching me closely and realize that he might know it was Malfoy who was torturing me. From the look on his face, he does. Oh, damn it.

"What happened, then?" he asks. "All I know is that there were sounds of a really short fight outside, and then my cell was open. Malfoy unchained me, tossed me a wand, and told me to get out of there."

I'm surprised that he doesn't call me out. But of course, he's probably going to grill me about it later. No, looking at his expression, he's _definitely_ going to question me about this.

"I really don't remember much. I do know that Bellatrix used a curse to… to sever my carotid artery, and that's how I lost so much blood."

"I'll kill her," Ron mutters. "First Dad, and now this…"

"She'll get what she deserves, Ron. Don't worry," Harry says.

"The next thing I remember is waking up here," I say. "Malfoy gave me some strengthened Blood Replenishing Potion, and then—"

"Don't you need fresh blood for that?" Blaise asks.

Harry and Ron look at him questioningly before turning their attention to me. "Do you?" they ask in unison.

"Yes," I say. I hadn't thought of that when he gave me the potion. Does that mean…

"You drank his blood," Blaise says, finishing my thought.

"Whoa. He'd spill some of that pureblood juice of his for _you_, of all people?" Ron says. He shakes his head. "I'd sooner believe that Malfoy was dancing ballet."

I laugh uneasily.

It's hard to imagine that he's completely overcome his prejudice against Muggle-borns. Then again, this didn't require him to drink any of _my_ blood, so his _pure_ blood wouldn't have been tainted.

Then I realize that all three men are staring at me and that the room is suddenly very quiet.

Harry breaks the silence.

"So… where is this place?" he asks.

"This is Draco's home," Blaise answers. "Not the Manor. That's not really a home—I've been there. Trust me, I know."

"Yeah, we've been there too," Ron says.

"Then you know what I mean."

"So, what then? Malfoy just decided to buy a place for himself?" Harry asks.

I'm curious to know this as well.

"Yeah, that was pretty much it. He got the money from his dad," Blaise says. "Thing is, he wouldn't take any of us here. Said it was only his."

"Bloody blabbermouth, you are."

We look over to see Malfoy standing in the doorway, casually leaning against the doorframe.

"How long have you been standing there?" Ron asks.

He shrugs. "Not long."

Blaise catches my eye, and I give him a small nod.

"Boys?" I say.

Harry and Ron know that I'm referring to them.

"Could you go outside, for a few minutes? I want to talk to Blaise alone."

Malfoy snorts. "Am I one of the _boys_ now? Or am I just invisible?"

"Shove it, Malfoy," Ron says. He turns to look at me. "Why—"

"Don't ask," Harry says, pulling him toward the door.

"Why's it always Zabini?" Ron mutters just loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Blaise looks at me with an amused expression on his face as we wait for them to clear out.

"It's better than leaving her alone with Malfoy, at least," are Harry's words as he exits the room.

"Yeah, thanks," I hear Malfoy say just before the door closes.

"Probably not a good idea to send those three out there together," Blaise comments with a small smile.

"They're big boys," I reply.

It's silent for a moment.

"You know that Malfoy was the one who tortured me, don't you?" I say.

He smiles grimly. "Why are you protecting him?"

"I… I'm not sure," I say.

"Or you don't want to tell me. You can say that. It's fine."

I sigh. "I can't keep anything from you, can I?"

He grins. "Nope, you can't. So you might as well stop trying."

"It'd be unlike me to give up that easily, wouldn't it?"

"True."

I wonder if I could learn more about Malfoy through Blaise. But Blaise hasn't been around this new, civil Malfoy much… would he know much about him? Then again, of course he would. They were best friends for years, so Malfoy must have always treated him civilly. Malfoy only seems new to me because he never treated me as anything more than dirt.

"Are you going to ask me a question or not?" Blaise prods.

I roll my eyes at him. Maybe I'll give it a try. "Has Malfoy changed a lot?" I ask.

"What do you mean?"

"Has he changed a lot since you last saw him?"

"I assume you mean the last time I saw him, before the three years when we had no contact."

I nod.

"Well, let's see. The last time I saw him, he was trying to kill me, and now, he's not. So I'd say yeah, he's changed quite a bit since then."

"Oh Blaise, quit teasing me. You know what I mean."

"Honestly, I haven't spoken much with him since he came back into our lives. But… no, I wouldn't say that he's changed drastically," he says.

Well, if he hasn't changed much, then he probably doesn't feel anything for me, and I'm just making a big deal out of nothing.

"Mind telling me what's got you wondering?"

I shake my head. "I might have just… imagined some things," I say. "I felt like he was um… like he'd changed a lot. I guess I was wrong."

"You look disappointed," Blaise observes.

"What?" I say, surprised. I flash him a smile. "No. No, I'm not."

Blaise smiles back. "So defensive," he comments. "But you're not wrong, Hermione. You're just seeing a side of him that you hadn't seen before. Actually, it's probably one that not many of us have seen before. I think that seeing you, after all this time, has had more of an effect on him than he would have liked."

I frown and drop my gaze to my hands, which are clasped in my lap.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He looks at me pointedly. "I think you know."

I _do_ feel like I know what he's trying to say. But I shake my head. It can't be. I can _feel_ his eyes on me, analyzing me, trying to get me to meet his gaze. He always does this. He doesn't even _need_ Legilimency to see right through me. It's not fair.

"I think you know," he says, "but you're too afraid to confirm that it's true. You'd rather be in denial. In fact, I'm willing to bet you've been in denial for a while already."

Sometimes I suspect that he knows me better than I know myself.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say.

"This is weak, Hermione. Come on, you're better than this. You know you are. _I_ know you are. So just be honest. You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about."

I finally meet his eyes, and my voice comes out in a whisper.

"Blaise… what do I do?"

He opens his mouth to respond, but the door bangs open, interrupting him.

"I'm sorry, but I can_not_ stay in the same room as that bloody ferret," Ron says, storming into the room furiously. Harry's right behind him—I can see that he'd been trying to calm him down, but clearly, that hadn't worked out.

Goddamn it, Ron! He couldn't have waited just another _five seconds_ before barging in here?

"Last time I checked, this was still _my_ house," Malfoy's voice floats in from the living room.

He enters the room, lifts his left arm, and makes a swift beckoning motion with two fingers. In an instant, Ron, Harry, and Blaise's wands fly into his outstretched hand.

I can't take my eyes away from his face—it looks so devastatingly beautiful. He radiates confidence, authority… just raw _power_. Yet somehow, there's none of that arrogance that I've become so accustomed to seeing on his face over the years. It's hard to believe that he was such a coward back at school. How can Blaise say that he hasn't changed?

"If anyone gets to lose their temper here, it's me," he finishes.

"I didn't do anything, Malfoy. Give me back my wand," Harry says.

"I don't care, Potter. At the end of the day, if it comes to a choice between me and Weasley, you'll all choose Weasley. So excuse me if I decide to consider my own safety first."

Blaise sighs and gets to his feet, turning toward Malfoy.

"Yes, you'd pick him, too," Malfoy says before Blaise can speak. "Don't lie to me."

I expect Blaise to say something that would refute that, but the room falls into an uncomfortable silence. Would Blaise _really_ choose to fight for Ron rather than Malfoy? I suppose Malfoy _is_ more of an enemy than Ron is. His Dark Mark is more than enough proof.

But if I want to be honest with myself, I really don't know if I'd choose Ron over Malfoy.

Malfoy's saved my life once—no, twice, including the incident in the Forbidden Forest. And that's not even counting how many times the heart charm helped me. If Dolohov's curse had gotten me at Bristol… I highly doubt that George and I would have survived. And while the torture that Malfoy put me through was terrible, it could have been worse if I hadn't had that charm—then the other Death Eaters could have gotten creative with knives or other tools and spells.

Ron, on the other hand… I don't know if he's saved me from anything life-threatening. I do know that I've saved his life on more than one occasion with quickly applied healing spells—he's too reckless in battle.

It feels nice to be rescued now and then. I strongly believe that I can take care of myself, and I typically find damsel-in-distress stories distasteful because of how weak said damsels are portrayed, but it just feels good to know that someone is willing to risk so much to save my life.

However, I have to admit that the fact that this someone is Malfoy scares me, more than a little bit. Especially after Blaise's implication that Malfoy may truly have feelings for me. What scares me even _more_ is that I… that I'm not the slightest bit repulsed by the idea.

Heat surges through my body as I remember how it felt to be stroked by him in the most intimate of places. Farther back, I recall the fiery impulses that he ignited in me when we kissed… oh Merlin, I want to kiss him again, to remind myself of what he tastes like.

I force myself to take slower, deeper breaths as I try to restore my heart rate to normal—it spiked as I was focusing on the sensations that Malfoy stirred up inside me.

I realize that the men are already talking again—Harry and Blaise are trying to convince Malfoy to give back their wands. Ron's sulking a few feet away from the bed, arms folded across his chest. It's not hard to guess that Harry and Blaise told him to shut up and let them handle it.

"Maybe you three should go," I say.

Ron looks at me, astonished. "Hermione… are you… well won't you be coming with us?"

"Look at her. She's so much paler than usual," Blaise says. "Do you really think she ought to be going anywhere?"

Ron glares at Blaise.

"Hermione, do you want to come back with us?" Harry asks me.

_Thank_ you, Harry, for asking my opinion.

"I don't mind staying," I reply.

"Hermione, are you mad? This is Malfoy we're talking about," Ron says.

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm still standing right here," Malfoy says.

I hush him with a look and turn my attention back to Ron. "If Malfoy was going to kill me, he would have done it this morning, or any other times when he was with me. He's had so many chances to do it. He wouldn't have waited until now."

Ron looks at me as though I've betrayed him. I hate that he obviously still sees me as _his_.

"Draco, give us our wands," Blaise says. "We'll need them to Apparate back."

Malfoy opens his hand, and the wands float back to their owners. As soon as Ron's wand is back in his hand, he seems tempted to attack Malfoy. Fortunately, Harry knows Ron as well as I do, and is prepared. He grabs Ron's arm and tugs him out of the room.

"Bye, Hermione!" he shouts back at me.

"Bye, Harry!" I respond.

Blaise follows them out of the room, grabbing Malfoy's arm on the way out.

"I'll borrow him for just a second, and then you can have him back. All right, Hermione?" he says.

Without waiting for my response, he pulls the door closed. Well, they cleared out quickly enough.

I bite my lip and pray that Blaise won't say anything about our conversation to Malfoy.

* * *

**Author's Note:** As always, I'm anxious to hear your thoughts, so please review!


	40. Chapter 40 D

**Author's Note:** Here you go, the next chapter! Gosh, I can't believe I've hit forty already. And yet, I think this story is still shorter than _Vengeance_.

**Chapter 40**

I'm about to die of curiosity.

What are those four talking about in there?

I'm almost certain that they'll discuss me at some point. Well, if I'm going to be the subject of the conversation, I have a right to hear, don't I?

Fuck it, just because they don't want me to listen in doesn't mean I can't. This is my house.

I put down the half-full bottle and walk over to the door in time to hear Potter asking where this is. I hear Blaise giving him a response.

Silently, I push the door open.

None of the occupants in the room are facing my direction except for Granger. I'm surprised that she doesn't notice the door opening.

"So, what then?" Potter asks. "Malfoy just decided to buy a place for himself?"

"Yeah that was pretty much it. He got the money from his dad. Thing is, he wouldn't take any of us here. Said it was only his," Blaise replies.

I shake my head. "Bloody blabbermouth, you are," I say.

Four surprised pairs of eyes find me standing in the doorway.

"How long have you been standing there?" Weasley asks.

I shrug nonchalantly. "Not long."

Weasley opens his mouth to speak, but upon hearing Granger's voice, he stops himself.

"Boys? Could you go outside, for a few minutes? I want to talk to Blaise alone."

I chuckle. "Am I one of the _boys_ now? Or am I just invisible?"

"Shove it, Malfoy," Weasley says.

I'm not in the mood to argue with him, so I let it slide.

He's facing Granger as he speaks. "Why—"

Potter interrupts him with a hard yank toward me. "Don't ask," he says.

"Why's it always Zabini?" Weasley whines.

I step aside to let Potter and Weasley through the doorway.

"It's better than leaving her alone with Malfoy, at least," Potter says as he passes by me.

"Yeah, thanks," I say sarcastically, pulling the door shut.

I walk past my _guests_ and sink into the couch, propping my feet up on the coffee table. Potter and Weasley stand somewhat awkwardly. And it's only right. After all, they don't belong here.

I conjure two large green armchairs. "Have a seat."

Potter lowers himself into one of the chairs. "Thanks."

Weasley doesn't sit, instead choosing to pace back and forth behind Potter's chair. I watch them calmly, and Potter looks uneasy under my gaze. What is it that's bothering him?

Then I notice that he's avoiding my eyes.

Ah, he's afraid that I'll take another dive into his melon. Well, there's no information I'm hoping to gain from him, so that'd be pointless.

And then, as my eyes rest on that famous scar of his, it hits me—the reason why Voldemort was interested in that useless, gaudy dagger. It's already been established that Potter's some distant descendant of the Ignotus, third Peverell brother, so the dagger must have been another heirloom, like the Invisibility Cloak, that was passed down over the years. And Voldemort has a penchant for choosing meaningful or valuable objects to make into Horcruxes.

I smile.

"So, Potter, when are you planning on ending this war? I think enough people have died, don't you?"

"Watch it, Malfoy," Weasley snarls.

"I believe _you_ are the one who should be minding your tongue. As Blaise said, this _is_ my house. My house, my rules. Now sit."

Potter glances at Weasley, who's finally sitting down, before replying. "I haven't seen Voldemort for some time, so I haven't exactly had a shot at him."

"Well, I'll give you a tip. He's got at least one more Horcrux still out there."

"_What?_ I thought we got them all," Potter says in disbelief. "Hermione said that the book said it's impossible to have so many—"

"Then that book ought to be rewritten. Otherwise, Voldemort's done the impossible."

"You're lying," Weasley says.

"Oh, really? And what reason do I have to lie to you?"

"Drop it, Malfoy," Potter says.

He shoots a glare at Weasley, presumably to shut him up. I wonder if a mere look would be enough to stop the weasel from speaking.

"How do you know there are more?" Potter asks me.

"He told me."

"He _told_ you?" Weasley blurts.

No, I suppose it's not enough, after all.

"He told _you?_" he continues. "Are you that high up on the food chain?"

"Yes, he told me," I say. "I even know where one of them might be."

Potter's eyes widen. "Where?"

"I'm not in a particularly sharing mood today," I say.

Potter's face falls visibly. "Why not?"

I shrug. "I'm just not."

Now he looks angry. "Ending the war will save lives. We need to get rid of any new Horcruxes he might have made. You can't withhold information like that just because you don't _feel_ like sharing it."

I smirk. Looks like his hero complex has just kicked in. "Sure I can. The information is in my head," I say, tapping my forefinger to my temple. "No one can force me to give it up."

"You said yourself that enough people have died," he says. "The sooner we end this, the more lives we'll save."

"I'll think about it."

Potter looks utterly exasperated.

"Don't be an arse, Malfoy," Weasley says.

"Can't you keep your mouth shut, Weasley? You're part of the reason why I'm in such a foul mood. A small part, admittedly, but still a contributing factor."

"_I'm_ the reason why _you_ are in a foul mood? Who do you think you are?" Weasley demands, jumping out of his seat.

"Careful there, Weasley," I say, conjuring a twig and twirling it between my fingers. "If you piss me off, I might just—" I break the twig in half "—snap your wand in half."

He glares at me. "You wouldn't."

"That's what you'd like to believe. Ask me to prove that I would, and I'll gladly show you."

"Ron, forget it," Potter says.

I grin. "Ah Potter, Keeper of the Peace."

Weasley's face is redder than a ripe tomato.

"I don't think you're doing a very good job with your mate, there," I comment offhandedly.

Weasley lets out a frustrated shout and heads for the bedroom. Potter leaps out of the chair, glaring at me, before hurrying after his friend. I suppose he's doing the mature thing, trying to mend bridges. I should probably try to make his job a bit easier. But I just can't resist poking at that weasel. And he makes it so easy for me.

"Ron, calm down. He's not worth getting this worked up about," he says.

I get up and follow them to my room, taking my time.

"I'm sorry, but I can_not_ stay in the same room as that bloody ferret," I hear Weasley saying.

"Last time I checked, this was still _my_ house," I say.

Upon entering my bedroom, I Summon their wands.

"If anyone gets to lose their temper here, it's me."

Potter's glaring at me again. "I didn't do anything, Malfoy. Give me back my wand."

"I don't care, Potter. At the end of the day, if it comes to a choice between me and Weasley, you'll all choose Weasley," I say. "So excuse me if I decide to consider my own safety first."

Blaise stands and turns to face me, and I sense that he's going to try to make an argument.

"Yes, you'd pick him too," I say. "Don't lie to me."

We lock eyes for a long moment. It's true, then. I see it in his eyes. If a fight broke out between me and Weasley, he'd pick the weasel. Some best mate, eh?

"Malfoy, give us back our wands," Potter says.

"It wouldn't do us any good," Blaise says. "Once he's touched the wands, they're practically useless against him, unless we wanted to poke him with it."

"If that's true, then why won't you give them back?" Potter asks me.

"Because he's a bloody prat, that's why," Weasley says.

I ignore him. "I feel better when potential enemies are disarmed," I reply to Potter.

And because my powers are limited. It's hard to block magic—took me two years to finally do it properly. I can't control more than one wand at a time, and have to have touched the wand very recently in order to block its power. But they don't have to know that.

"Hear that?" Weasley says. "He just said we're enemies. I _told_ you—"

"Shut up, Weasley. Don't you know when to stop?" Blaise says.

"You little—"

"Ron," Potter says in a warning tone.

I allow myself a short laugh. Potter sounds like a mother trying to control a child who's about to throw a temper tantrum. But I suppose it's effective—Weasley folds his arms across his chest and stares daggers at me.

"Draco, just give them back," Blaise says.

"Why do you want them back, if they won't be of any use to you?"

"Because it makes me _feel_ better," he replies.

Then Granger speaks. "Maybe you three should go."

The weasel looks horrified. "Hermione… are you… well won't you be coming with us?"

Hmm, no. Not when I can do something about it.

"Look at her," Blaise says. "She's so much paler than usual. Do you really think she ought to be going anywhere?"

Good job, Blaise.

"Hermione, do you want to come back with us?" Potter asks.

"I don't mind staying," she responds.

That's… surprising. I thought I'd have to put up a fight to keep her here.

"Hermione, are you mad? This is Malfoy we're talking about," Weasley says.

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm still standing right here," I point out.

I'm about to continue to say that I've also still got his wand and that it's the perfect moment to carry out my earlier threat, but Granger catches my eye, and her message is clear—_shut up_. There's something incredibly sexy about a woman who gives silent commands like that.

Aw, fuck.

"If Malfoy was going to kill me, he would have done it last night," she says to Weasley. "He's had so many chances to do it. He wouldn't have waited until now."

All true. But I'm still surprised that she would defend me against the weasel. She keeps denying that they're in a relationship, but they're at least still best friends, aren't they? Then again, Granger is logical and reasonable. If reason is on my side, she'll be on my side. It's nothing personal.

"Draco, give us our wands. We'll need them to Apparate back," Blaise says.

Fine, have them.

I open my hand and levitate each wand to its owner simultaneously. As soon as he's got his wand in his hand, Potter grabs Weasley and pulls him out into the living room.

"Bye, Hermione!" he calls out.

"Bye, Harry!" Granger replies.

I look at her, wondering what my first name would sound like rolling off her tongue.

Then a hand hooks around my arm, and I'm being dragged out of my room. Fucking Blaise.

"I'll borrow him for just a second, and then you can have him back," he says as we exit. "All right, Hermione?"

He yanks the door shut, and I turn to see that Potter and Weasley are still in the living room.

"Well? What are you two waiting for?" I ask.

"Blaise," Potter replies.

"You two go on. I'll be back in a few minutes," Blaise says.

Potter nods and grabs Weasley's arm, Disapparating.

I frown. "I thought Weasley could Disapparate on his own."

"Yeah, he can. I think Harry's just worried that he'll splinch himself if he's too worked up."

Makes sense, I suppose. "So, what did you want to tell me?" I ask.

"I just wanted to warn you. If anything happens to Hermione on your watch, I'm coming after you."

"That's all?" I scoff. "You had me thinking it was something important."

"Draco, don't start that with me. You know better."

We lock eyes for a moment, and I wonder if it'll ever be the same. But I already know it's impossible to go back. We're both marked. There's no way to take that back.

"Fine," I say. "But if I'm honest with you, you'd better be honest with me."

"Fine."

I watch him warily. I hadn't expected him to agree so readily.

"The answer to your question is yes," I finally say.

He shakes his head. "Even after all this time?"

I nod. "And you?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"I don't even know."

"Well, if anyone could catch your eye, it'd be Granger," I say. "But she doesn't exactly fit with your usual type."

"Don't make judgments on what my type of girl is."

"Was I wrong?"

"No."

"There you go," I say, grinning.

"Draco, since we're being honest, I'll just come right out with it. In my mind, you're still my best mate. What happened three years ago… it's all over and done with. As far as I'm concerned, we're even."

"No objections to that."

"I know Hermione's been on your mind for a while, so—"

"No, I won't have you backing off out of pity. Do you really think I'd take that from you? And you say I'm your best mate."

"Look, she isn't stupid. And your actions haven't exactly been subtle. She's going to ask you about it, eventually. And if you're not ready to tell her the truth, you'd better have one hell of an explanation for her," Blaise says.

"Thanks for the tip, you nosy little bastard. With Granger… it's not up to us, what she wants. So don't start thinking about self-sacrifice."

He grins. "You know me. I'd never go that road. I'm too selfish for it."

"That's a lie, and we both know it," I say.

He only shakes his head, still grinning.

"Give Potter a message for me."

"All right."

"Tell him I'll have a special delivery for him by the end of the week."

Blaise nods. "Special delivery, end of the week. Anything else?"

"Just one more thing—not for Potter, for you."

"Go on."

"Keep an eye on Weasley," I say.

He laughs. "What are you worried about?"

"He may not be the brightest, but he's a proper duelist. I don't think he likes you much."

"That I already knew. I've been rooming with him and Harry for almost two years now. Don't worry, he's harmless," Blaise says.

"I can't shake the feeling that he's just waiting for his chance," I say.

"Well, if anyone's _really_ pissing him off right now, it's you. So I'd be more worried about myself, if I were you."

"Just watch him, will you?"

"All right, all right," Blaise says. "You're about as fussy as my grandmother."

"Shut up and get out of here before I hex you."

He laughs again. "Bye, Draco."

"Bye, mate."

When he's gone, I sit down on the couch for a minute.

That's the most… the most _normal_ that I've felt ever since the war started. I can't say how much I've missed having a best friend, a confidant. It's been too long since I last sat down with someone and spoke only the truth.

Lies, deceit, Occlumency—that's been my life. And I'm thoroughly sick of it.

I should see to it that I get that dagger for Potter.

At the time, I really was withholding the information out of spite, bitter that Granger would never look at me the way she looks at them. But after some reconsideration, I've decided that it'll be better if I deliver the dagger to Potter myself. The last time he was anywhere near Diagon Alley, he was injured to the brink of death.

Yes, it'll be safer if I go.

But I remember that Granger's still in my bedroom, all alone. She's safe, but she'll be bored. And starving. I'll take Naree here and command him never to give away the location. I always felt safer because I was the only person who knew of this place, but now that I've let even that _weasel_ in here, it's only right that I allow my faithful companion entry. Naree will be able to take care of her—I don't know what I'll have to do or how much time it'll take to get that dagger out of Borgin and Burkes.

The trip to and from the Manor is very quick, and after giving Naree orders to make and serve Granger a hearty dinner, I lift my wand to return to the Manor.

I turn and glance at my closed bedroom door. She's such a small distance away from me. And in all likelihood, she's probably waiting for me to return. I should at least let her know ahead of time that I'm leaving.

Sighing, I move to the door and push it open.

She gives me a small smile, and it seems to me as if she's… _nervous_?

"You're back," she says softly.

Her attitude toward me seems different. I wonder what prompted the change, if there really was one. She looks more unguarded than I've ever seen her before, which naturally prompts me to be more wary of her.

"Yes, but only for a moment. I have to go."

Her smile falters briefly. "Already?"

My heart stutters. She doesn't want me to go.

"There are some things that I have to do."

"When will you be back?"

"I don't know."

"Are you leaving now?"

I nod once.

"Then…" she tilts her head up to meet my eyes, "… take care of yourself, Malfoy."

The look in her eyes is a miracle to me. She looks worried about me, about my well-being. My heart warms at the thought, and no matter how much my mind berates myself for this reaction, I can't seem to stop the swelling warmth.

"I will," I reply. "Bye, Granger."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I feel like I have ideas of how to continue, but I'm writing a lot slower. The ideas are in my head but they're just not coming out. I'll put up this chapter and maybe another one, and then if I'm still having trouble writing, I'll slow down my updating. I think I've updated once a day for the past few days, actually.


	41. Chapter 41 H

**Author's Note:** Since this chapter overlaps slightly with the preceding one, I decided that I should probably post them close together. So here's the next chapter!

**Chapter 41**

Sometimes I wish I could stop thinking and just _do_. Harry and Ron seem to do just fine without thinking everything out millions of times over. Why do I think so much?

But it's just in my nature to think before I act. I can't change. Not as much as I'd like to, at least.

So here I am, taking advantage of Blaise's distraction, trying to think my way out of my problem: do I or do I not confront Malfoy about his—potential—feelings?

He seems perfectly content with the way things are, and asking him would probably—scratch that, _definitely_—shake up the unsteady ground that we currently stand on, and I'm not sure if that's what I want to do.

But there's too much. Too much has happened for me to simply ignore it all. He can't just go from loathing my dirty blood to saving my life and caring for me in such a short period of time. But if Blaise was telling the truth, that means Malfoy has been feeling this way for a long time, and seeing me again has forced those feelings to the surface.

The idea is ridiculous to me. I know what people said about me. It's downright laughable to think that desirable, flawless—in appearance, at least—irresistible Draco Malfoy would be interested in bossy, controlling, bushy-haired, bucktoothed Hermione Granger. Well, I suppose I'm not bucktoothed anymore. But still, the disparity between us is great.

Logically, then, it shouldn't bother me if he denies that those feelings ever existed. It's what's to be expected. But somehow, I just know that I'll feel disappointed when he does. If he admits that what Blaise said is true, I think I'll be in shock.

I'd have to reject him, wouldn't I?

Harry and Ron both can't stand him. He's Malfoy. I'm surprised that my first instinct wasn't to reject the notion of being with him right away. I suppose it could be because everything is purely theoretical right now—when it's really happening… I'll probably act reflexively and say that it's impossible.

Then the door opens, and he's standing in the doorway.

God, what am I going to do?

I manage a weak smile.

"You're back," I say.

His eyes study me, and he looks uncertain. "Yes, but only for a moment," he replies. "I have to go."

I feel my smile fading. I should probably feel relieved that he'll be gone, because I'll have some time to avoid asking him that question, but instead, I'm disappointed that he'll be gone.

Oh, no. Doesn't that answer my own question for me? Now I don't even know if I could reject him…

If he really does like me, that is.

"Already?" I ask.

"There are some things that I have to do."

"When will you be back?"

"I don't know."

"Are you leaving now?"

He nods.

Why so soon, I want to ask. But it could very well be something that he has to do for Voldemort.

I shift my gaze upward to get a good look at his grey eyes.

"Then, take care of yourself, Malfoy."

His expression is unreadable, and yet again I find myself wishing that I had access to his thoughts. If only he weren't such a powerful Occlumens.

"I will," he says. "Bye, Granger."

I blink once, and he's gone.

There's an odd hollowness in my chest as I stare at the space where he stood a few seconds ago. Wow… I didn't even realize how much I didn't want him to go.

I decide that it's only because I don't want to be alone—I couldn't possibly miss Malfoy _that_ much. I just don't like being left alone in an empty house. I don't _really_ want to feel his arms around me. I'm just reluctant to be alone here.

Ugh, I can't even convince myself. How pathetic.

A few minutes later, the door swings open, startling me. My eyes drop to see a house elf standing in the doorway hesitantly.

"Hello, Miss Granger," he says. "Naree is here to serve you."

I frown. "Where did you come from?"

"Master gave orders. Naree is to wait until Miss Granger finishes her meal before answering her questions."

Naree the house elf snaps his fingers, and a large tray laden with plates of food floats into the room. My mouth immediately begins to water—with all the thoughts in my head, I'd hardly noticed that I was hungry. I save my questions for later and focus on the food that's been prepared for me.

About twenty minutes later, I finish eating, and Naree levitates the tray back out of the room. Then he bows respectfully.

"Miss Granger may ask her questions now. Naree is prepared to answer."

"Can you just call me Hermione?" I ask.

"Naree does not wish to be disrespectful of someone Master holds in such high regard."

"Explain how he holds me in 'high regard'."

"Today is the first time Naree has ever seen Master's home," the house elf says. "Naree only has the privilege because Miss Granger is here."

More and more evidence points to the possibility that he cares for me.

"Do you work for all of the Malfoys?" I ask. "Or do you only serve one master?"

"Naree must take orders from all of Master Draco's family. But Master's orders take precedence over all the others."

"And what are your orders right now?"

"Naree is to take orders from Miss Granger until Master returns."

Interesting. Malfoy left a _house elf_ for me? I suppose I could take advantage of that—Naree appears to be his personal servant, so he must know quite a bit about Malfoy.

"What's your opinion of Malfoy?" I ask him. "How does he treat you?"

The house elf shuffles his feet hesitantly. "Master said not to tell you too much about him."

"Well, this isn't _really_ about him, is it? I'm asking for your opinion, and about how you're treated," I say.

Naree looks at me suspiciously, and it seems like he doesn't trust me. But a moment later, he begins to speak.

"Naree likes to please Master. Naree is much better off than the other house elves. Master never punishes Naree."

Never? That's surprising, given Malfoy's upbringing in a home where elitism is encouraged. I remember what a horrible state Dobby was in and take a closer look at Naree. He doesn't bear any marks of abuse, and while he still wears a pillowcase, it's perfectly clean.

"Really?"

Naree nods. "Master even forgives Naree when he is forced… forced…"

I frown as Naree's eyes fill up with tears. "Who forces whom to do what?" I ask gently. "Does Malfoy force you to—"

"No, not Master!"

"Then what is it?"

"When the Dark Lord is angry, he punishes Master by forcing Naree to punish him."

That doesn't make sense. "But… if Malfoy is your master, then how can Voldemort give you the command to punish him?"

"Master gives the order. Naree cannot disobey."

Then the house elf bursts into tears.

"Oh, Naree feels awful!"

"Please, Naree, please stop crying," I say soothingly. I wish I could at least pat him on the back to comfort him, but I can't get off the bed, and he's still standing a few feet away. "You said it yourself that he doesn't blame you."

"But Naree blames himself!" he says, wiping away at his tears. "Naree hates the Dark Lord," he sniffles.

I'm surprised by how much Malfoy's servant cares for him. Surely, that's a reflection of how well Malfoy treats Naree, especially in comparison to how the other house elves in the Malfoy Manor get treated. But what if Malfoy left Naree here with orders to make me think that he was a good person? I glance over at Naree to see that he's wiping his nose on the edge of his pillowcase. If what he said wasn't the truth, then he is a _very_ good actor.

"Naree is very sorry," the house elf says. "He got carried away."

"It's all right," I say with a small smile. "Did Malfoy tell you when he would be back?"

Naree shakes his head, big ears flopping adorably. "Does Miss Granger want anything? Naree can get it for you."

It's been a long time since I last sat down with a book, so I decide to ask him for one. Naree nods, seemingly cheered up by the fact that I need him to get something for me, and disappears with a snap of his fingers.

Ten seconds later, he returns to the room with a big volume and presents it to me.

_Hogwarts, A History_.

"This is one of my favorite books," I say, taking it from him.

He smiles widely. "Naree remembers. Master mentioned it before."

"Malfoy mentioned that I liked _Hogwarts, A History_?" I ask, surprised.

Naree nods. "Master said it's one of the most boring books he has ever read. But he doesn't let Naree put his copy back in the library."

It takes me a moment to remember that Naree is talking about the library at the Manor—of course an estate of that size would include a private library.

"Where does he keep it, if not in the library?"

"In his bedroom, of course," Naree says matter-of-factly.

God, that's almost _too_ obvious. If he doesn't care for that book, I can't think of any reason why he would keep it in his room other than that he wants to be reminded of the reader… Too, too obvious. I wonder if Malfoy's doing this on purpose to mess with my head. That certainly seems much more likely than the possibility that he actually likes me.

But who would go to such lengths for a practical joke? I highly doubt he would risk his life just to make me think that he likes me.

If I keep thinking about this, my head is going to explode. I should confront him, talk to him about this the next time he comes back. It's tiring, thinking around and around in circles with no new conclusions; without any input from him, there isn't a way that I can come up with a definite answer.

Ugh, Blaise is right. I'm in denial. It's so obvious.

But I still feel that I should confront him about it. There's still a slim chance that this is all just in my imagination. That's probably just me, being in denial, but I suppose I won't let go of that doubt until he gives me an unambiguous answer to my question.

I'm just going to have to grit my teeth and ask.

I look up to see that Naree has disappeared.

With a sigh, I open the book to the first page, and the musty, familiar smell of an old book wafts over me. It feels good to finally be holding a book in my hands again. With this book, I can get Malfoy out of my head, for at least a good hour or two.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yes, yes, I know, you want them to just talk already. I promise it's going to happen soon. And _now_, it might be a few days before I post again. Thanks for sticking with the story this far!


	42. Chapter 42 H

**Author's Note:** The math midterm today was brutal! Nobody finished on time. But I guess that means the curve should be okay. Thank goodness…

Anyway, here's the next chapter!

**Chapter 42**

I yawn sleepily.

I struggle to stay awake, but I'm just so tired.

I've been at Draco's house for three days. He's been gone for all three of them. Last night and the night before, he came in late at night to check on me and to make sure that everything was all right. He looked so exhausted when he came in that I didn't have the heart to pop my question.

Or maybe I'm just such a coward that I still can't ask it.

I can get up and walk around now, but I can't Disapparate—I still don't have my wand. Last night, he promised that he would bring it back tonight, but he hasn't shown up yet.

I've improved quite a bit at wandless spells, though. Three days is a lot of time, and though I spent most of the first day in bed, I had Naree bring some small objects into the room so that I could practice levitating, throwing and summoning them.

But aside from practicing spells and reading, I haven't had much to do. It's boring. Last night, I asked if Draco would let Harry, Ron, and Blaise come to visit again, but he was very stubborn. I didn't even bother asking if he would let me leave.

I don't think I even want to leave. It's like a little heaven here. I can almost pretend that there isn't a war going on outside these walls, that Voldemort isn't out there destroying Muggle cities and killing thousands of people worldwide. Almost.

I sigh and roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling.

When will Draco get here? I want to see him before I fall asleep.

The bedroom door opens a crack, letting in a sliver of light, and I decide on a whim to pretend to be asleep. I hope that he won't decide not to bother me—I actually _do_ want to talk to him. Maybe if he doesn't look so tired, I'll get him to talk about his feelings.

Then I feel the bed dip under his weight as he sits next to me. I consider opening my eyes, but then his hand softly runs through my hair, and my curiosity is piqued. I keep my eyes shut and wait to see what else he'll do.

His hand rests on my cheek, cupping it gently, and my skin tingles. His thumb traces my eyebrow and then ghosts over my eyelid in a feather-light touch. Then his hand slips down my face slightly, and his lips press against my forehead.

My heart is pounding so loudly that I can't believe he hasn't heard it already.

Then I hear his whisper, almost inaudible.

"Good night, Granger."

As his hand slides away from my face, I open my eyes and grab it. He immediately tenses up, and I wonder if I shouldn't have done that.

"Draco…"

Before I can say anything else, there's a loud crack from outside, followed immediately by a crashing noise. Draco jerks his hand out of my grasp, and the lights turn on in the room.

Harry bursts in. "Malfoy, I need your help!"

Draco's on his feet already. "What is it?"

"Grimmauld Place—the Death Eaters got in. I don't have enough time to explain—come with me."

Draco frowns. "Go with you? How can I—"

I get out of bed quickly, alarmed. Death Eaters at Grimmauld Place?

"Draco, did you bring my wand?" I demand.

"You're not going," he says forcefully.

"You're not stopping me," I reply just as firmly. "Accio wand!"

My wand shoots out of an inner pocket of his robes, and he glares at me.

"We don't have time for this! Hermione, if you have to come, please be careful," Harry says.

Then he Disapparates. Before Draco can protest any further, I Disapparate as well. I appear on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place a moment later and race in the door. Spells are being fired in all directions, and it's hard to make sense of the chaos.

I dodge hexes and fire a few of my own at the numerous wearers of Death Eater masks that are in the hallway. Fred and Angelina are teamed up against a few Death Eaters at the stairs, and I hear sounds of the fight from the kitchen.

What happened? How did they get in?

Harry's thrown up a protective barrier around himself and a prone figure on the ground. Spells bounce off the shield harmlessly, and he gestures for me to enter.

"It's Ginny!" he calls out.

Of _course_ he would forget all about a battle just for Ginny. I fire a Killing Curse at a Death Eater and Disarm another one before replying.

"Why can't you take her out of here?"

"I don't know where it's safe!" he shouts over the din.

Then Tonks barrels into me from the side, and a Killing Curse hits the wall behind where my head had been.

"You're welcome!" she says as she jumps back off me and jinxes an unsuspecting Death Eater.

I leap to my feet and back up against Tonks, cursing the Death Eaters nearest me.

"We were attacked at home!" Tonks informs me.

I'm shocked, and I want to ask more, but there's simply no time for explanations.

"McGonagall's?" I ask.

"Avada Kedavra!" she barks loudly. Then, "I don't know. I thought Harry went—"

She grunts, and in the same moment, I feel her weight thrown against me, and I go flying forward, right into the closest Death Eater. He's caught by surprise, and I Stun him before he can react. Tonks is off my back in an instant.

"—to check on McGonagall!" she finishes.

A Stunning Spell on its way to me rebounds and strikes the Death Eater who fired it, and I duck into Harry's protective space.

"Where are the others, and what happened to Ginny?"

"A lot of them Disapparated and came back—it's not safe!" he replies. "I think the ones who went to McGonagall's haven't come back though!"

I'm looking at Ginny. There doesn't seem to be any visible marks on her body, but her face is contorted in pain, and it almost hurts me to look at her.

"Take her to McGonagall's, then. I'll cover you—go!"

Harry lifts her in his arms and races out of the space that he'd cleared. Immediately a number of Killing Curses fly at his head, and I use several very powerful Shield Charms to absorb the ones that could have reached him.

Just as Harry's about to reach the door, a Death Eater slides into his way, but the man immediately crumples, and Harry jumps over his body. As soon as he's outside the boundary of the Disapparition Jinx, he disappears. Blaise steps over to the man he just Stunned and fires a Killing Curse to finish him off.

"Hermione, what are you _doing_ here?" he demands, dealing out curses nonverbally.

Does he really need an answer to that question?

I subdue two more Death Eaters to make my way to Blaise. Then a Stunning Spell almost reaches me and is deflected to the side by my heart charm. Caught off guard by the spell's sudden change of direction, Blaise is hit and slumps to the ground. I race over to him and kneel beside him, the heart charm deflecting several spells that were aimed at him.

"McGonagall's is safe!" Harry calls out.

I hadn't even noticed his reappearance. I wave my wand, moving Blaise out the door, and step out after him. A Killing Curse comes straight at me, but before it can reach me, I feel the tight compression of Apparition.

Next thing I know, I'm standing in McGonagall's living room. It seems to be at least twice the size it was when I was last here and is completely devoid of furniture, filled instead with numerous stretchers.

"Hermione!"

I turn just in time to get a big hug from Ron. I pat his back and wait for him to release me.

"How did you get here?" Harry asks from behind me.

"I just came from Shell Cottage—brought Justin with me. Mum and Charlie are staying there in case anyone else tries to Apparate there."

"Are a lot of Death Eaters there?" I ask as I levitate the unconscious Blaise onto an unoccupied stretcher.

He shakes his head. "Not as many as they sent to Grimmauld Place."

"We should go back," I say. "To help."

"You most certainly will not," McGonagall says sternly.

I look over to see that she's appeared between two stretchers.

Then Ron gasps. "Ginny!"

He rushes a few stretchers over, and Harry follows.

"Ginny will be fine," I hear a familiar voice say—I glance over to see that Madam Pomfrey is working on the injured people in the stretchers.

"Why not?" I ask McGonagall.

"I have already gone to all of the fights, except for Grimmauld Place—that is my next destination," she says. "Everyone will be coming here as soon as possible. You have to keep an eye out—if any Death Eater has a grip on someone who is Apparating here, you will have to kill him immediately."

I nod. "Are you coming back?"

"No. After stopping at Grimmauld Place, I must contact Kingsley. Good luck, Miss Granger."

"You too, Professor."

She smiles grimly before Disapparating, and I'm left standing in the room, frowning. Why is it that Shacklebolt _still_ hasn't come back?

But that's not the most pressing issue right now.

"What happened at Grimmauld Place?" I ask the boys.

I point my wand at Blaise. _Rennervate_. His eyes open almost instantly, and he jerks upright.

"Hermione, are you—where—"

"We're at McGonagall's," I tell him. Then I look back at Harry and Ron, who haven't responded to my question. "What happened at Grimmauld Place?" I repeat.

Harry looks at Ron and sighs. "I don't know," he says.

"Ron?"

Ron licks his lips quickly, and I know that he's nervous—after being friends with him for so long, I've picked up on his nervous habits.

"What did you do, Ron?"

"Yes, what _did_ you do, Ron?" Blaise says.

"I just… I wasn't being careful. It was… it was stupid, really," Ron says, shuffling his feet.

"_It_ was stupid, or _you_ were stupid?"

"Blaise, not right now," I say. "Ron, explain."

He sighs but doesn't speak.

"Ronald Weasley, explain yourself," I say firmly.

Then the heart charm burns against my chest, and I turn away from the boys.

"Hermione?" Harry says questioningly.

They're distracted by a loud pop, and I glance over my shoulder to see that Fred and Angelina have appeared. Fred's leaning heavily against Angelina but protesting loudly.

"No—_no_—let me go back!"

As Angelina barks a heated response at Fred, I pull out the heart charm and flip it around to look at the back. Two words: Come Back. Oh god, Draco. I'd forgotten about him. Why didn't he come to Grimmauld Place with Harry and me?

But the answer is obvious. The place was _crawling_ with Death Eaters. He couldn't have just shown up to help us.

I tuck the charm back under my clothing and turn back around to see that Harry, Ron and Angelina have wrestled Fred into a stretcher. His legs are bleeding heavily.

"Did Draco say anything?" Blaise asks as I move to help the others with Fred.

"What?"

"He showed us the necklace that he communicates with," Blaise says. "That means yours has to be a necklace too, doesn't it?"

I sigh. "He wants me to go back."

Ron immediately speaks up. "No, Hermione, you can't. You finally got out of there—you can't go right back."

I start to reply but get distracted by the commotion that Fred is causing.

"Just let me up! George is still—"

"Shut _up_, Fred!" Angelina says angrily. She points her wand at Fred and Stuns him. Then she Disapparates, most likely going back to Grimmauld Place to get George.

"Hermione, don't go back," Ron says.

"No, we should _all_ go back," Blaise says.

"_What?_" Ron says.

"McGonagall's place… it won't fit all of the Order. We'll need all the space we can get, at least until we can set up new secure locations. Draco's place is safe," Blaise reasons.

"He's _Malfoy_."

"Yeah, that doesn't mean much to me, seeing as he's been my best mate for the bigger part of my life."

Harry nods. "It makes sense. We should—"

"Do you honestly think Malfoy would just open his home up to the Order?" Ron says. "We can't possibly use his place as a safe house. It's _ridiculous_."

"He's already let us in once," Blaise says. "We can convince him just to let in the people he's already taken there. It's not perfect, but that's four people that McGonagall won't have to worry about storing away."

"I don't want to leave without Ginny," Harry says.

He's standing by her stretcher, holding her hand.

The charm burns again, but I know that Draco can't have more to say to me than "come back".

Then there's a light pop from right behind me, and I turn around to see Mrs. Weasley, disheveled but otherwise perfectly fine.

"Mum!" Ron says.

"Where are Fred, George and Ginny?" Mrs. Weasley asks.

"George is still at Grimmauld Place," Harry says.

Mrs. Weasley's face blanches, but I grab her hand to stop her before she can Disapparate.

"I think Angelina's gone back to get him," I say.

"What?" Ron says, surprised.

The boys look around—for some reason, it seems like I was the only one who noticed her departure.

Then Charlie appears.

"Did you give up on Shell Cottage?" Harry asks.

"McGonagall said that she told everyone to come here, so we figured that no one else would be showing up there," Charlie says.

Mrs. Weasley has moved over to stand on the other side of Ginny's stretcher, watching her sadly.

I turn to Blaise, Harry and Ron.

"Let me go first, then. To ask if he'll let us stay," I say.

"Ask if Ginny can come," Harry says. "We can't take her there unless he tells her the location."

I nod.

"Are you all out of your minds?" Ron says. "This is Malfoy we're talking about."

Charlie frowns. "What are you four going on about?"

"It's… complicated," I say. "I'm leaving. You three explain to Charlie—and to Mrs. Weasley, all right?"

As I lift my wand to Disapparate, Ron grabs my arm and pulls it down.

"Don't, Hermione," he says.

"We're in the middle of a _war_, Ron. It's time we got past these silly differences and started working _together_. It's safe there, and if it's possible for us to stay there to make things easier here, I will try for it," I say. "Now let me go."

"But Hermione—"

"Let her go, Ron," Harry says.

Finally, reluctantly, he loosens his grip on my arm. I take a step back, away from him.

"See you soon," I say before Disapparating.


	43. Chapter 43 D

**Author's Note:** There was something different about Chapter 42. It wasn't exactly obvious or extremely important, I guess, but I'm sad that no one noticed! Then again, maybe the people who caught it didn't choose to review, or didn't think it worth mentioning in a review…

But anyway, I like this chapter (: I hope you guys do, too!

**Chapter 43**

I relax my grip on the edges of the basin, relieved.

I can't believe she left, just like that. Doesn't she know that I can't protect her if she rushes headlong into fights? Fuck! But of course, even if she does know, she probably doesn't care. She wouldn't want my protection anyway.

I have no idea where she is—I can't see anything in her surroundings other than people. She's with Blaise, Potter, and a few Weasleys. I see bodies levitated around them, probably placed on flat surfaces. I can tell that they must be in a safe place; otherwise, they wouldn't be speaking so calmly. And since I can't see anything that would give away their location, the place must be under the Fidelius Charm.

I wrap my fist around the charm again. I've already told her to come back once, but she hasn't responded. I did see her check the message I sent, so she's deliberately not choosing not to come back to me. But she doesn't even have a _reason_ to come back. Why should I expect her to? She has no obligation to stay here.

All I want is for her to be safe. Is that too much to ask?

Maybe it's better if she doesn't come back. How was I supposed to know she was only _pretending_ to be asleep? Fuck. I've been avoiding her for the past few days, knowing that if I spend enough time alone with her, she'll ask. I should have had more self-control. Touching her face is maybe excusable, but kissing her forehead? I'm so stupid.

Then there's a light pop behind me, and I quickly wave my hand over the basin, Vanishing the water inside.

"What is that?" she asks, walking around the couch.

"Nothing," I reply.

I get to my feet but avoid her eyes.

"Draco, I—"

"Wait just a minute, Granger. That's the second time tonight that you've called me by my first name. Why?"

She looks confused. "I didn't…" her voice fades.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"What do you mean? You asked me to come back."

I stare at her for a long minute.

"All right, so I have to ask a favor from you," she says. "And is it so horrible that I'm calling you Draco? I thought you said we should try to be friends."

I'm just not fucking used to it. Hearing my name coming out of her mouth… makes it seem as though we're a lot closer than we really are.

"What favor?" I ask.

"Can Harry, Ron, Blaise and Ginny come here, to stay?"

Aw, hell. "Why?"

"The Death Eaters took Grimmauld Place and two of our other safe houses tonight. We're really overcrowded at the moment, and—"

"And you want to make my place a new safe house." Fuck, no.

"Just for Blaise, Harry, Ron, Ginny and me. You won't have to let anyone else in."

I consider it. I can't exactly keep Blaise, Potter or the weasel out of my house—they've been inside already, and since I didn't place any extra wards on this cottage, they can return. I don't _want_ to let them stay in my home. But something tells me that Granger won't stay here unless her friends are here as well, especially now that she's well enough to come and go as she pleases.

"I already took those three here before," I say. "They're technically able to come. I won't stop them. Why Ginny Weasley?"

"Because Harry won't come without her."

"And it'd be _such_ a shame not to have the great Harry Potter living in my house."

She sighs. "Ginny's really hurt, and you said it yourself. You have extra resources, and we don't have any to spare. Could you just—"

"It's enough that I'm letting _one_ weasel stay here. Why should I let both of them?"

"Please, Draco. She's one of my best friends."

"She can stay wherever she is now—she's safe there, isn't she?"

"I'm serious. Can she stay here? Please?"

"Oh, well since you asked so nicely," I say sarcastically.

She sighs.

Goddamn it! I can't fucking bear to see her upset. I try to stop myself, but the words come out anyway.

"Fine, I'll bring her here," I grumble.

Her face lights up, and she runs around the coffee table to give me a hug. Bloody fucking hell.

When her arms come around me, I struggle with myself for a moment. I want more than anything to wrap my arms around her and never let go.

No.

I push her away before I can lose control and move to the opposite end of the room. I glance up and see a look of disappointment on her face, but I pretend not to notice and turn away from her.

"Draco—"

Stop saying my name! Fuck!

"—before the others come," she continues, "we really need to talk."

I don't turn to face her. "About what?"

I hear her coming closer, but she doesn't reply. Then she walks around in front of me, and I start turning away again. I can't look at her face.

But she braces her hand on my shoulder. Her touch is light, but it's enough to stop me. She dips her head down, trying to make me look at her, but I keep my gaze on the ground.

"Draco, don't hide from me," she says quietly.

I steel myself and look into her eyes. My voice nearly fails me. She's so, so close to me.

"What do you want?" I manage to ask.

"I want you to be honest with me," she says. "I want you to tell me… what this is."

I know what she's asking, but how can I be honest? I'm fairly certain it'll change everything.

I grin at her. "It's a shoulder, Granger. Surely your knowledge of human anatomy hasn't regressed _that_ much."

The hand that's barely resting on my shoulder leaves it for a second to punch me, and I chuckle.

"I'm being very serious, Draco," she says. "Everything that you've done for me… there has to be a reason. I'm sick of throwing the idea back and forth in my head, so please, just tell me. Do you…"

She pauses to take a deep breath before asking her question.

"Do you have feelings for me?"

The moment's here. Fuck. I've thought a lot about what to say to her, but I've never actually come up with anything that sounded satisfactory.

I hold her gaze and say in a soft voice, "Do you want me to have feelings for you?"

She stares up at me. I've surprised her with my answer. Is that good or bad? She opens her mouth just slightly, as though she's about to speak, but no sound comes out.

My eyes fall on her small, pink lips, and I can't help but recall the distinct flavor of her mouth and the feelings that our first kiss created in me. I wet my lips.

This is a terrible, terrible idea.

I bend my head down and press my lips to hers, shutting my eyes. She immediately stiffens, and regret fills me. I start to step back, but in the same moment, she melts into me, and it becomes impossible for me to let her go.

Sparks fly through my body as she takes a step forward, lifting herself up on her toes so that I don't have to bend down as far. Her hands circle around to grip the back of my neck, anchoring us together, and I draw her in closer, slipping my tongue into the warm cavern of her mouth. She tastes even better than I'd remembered.

Too soon, my brain turns back on, and I start to pull my head back. She catches my lower lip between her teeth and tugs. I can't hold back the desperate growl that rips out of my throat in response.

Fuuuck.

She releases my lip, and I lean my forehead against hers, eyes closed, chest heaving.

I tell myself I should let go of her, but my arms continue to clutch her to my chest, selfishly refusing to give her up.

It's quiet for a long moment, silent except for our heavy breathing.

"Did that answer your question?" I finally ask.

When she doesn't respond, I crack an eye open and see that hers are still shut.

A small pop alerts us to someone's arrival, and we spring apart. I immediately run a hand through my hair, messing it up some more to make it less obvious that she was just twisting her fingers in it. I feel extremely incomplete, as though Granger stole a piece of me when we separated.

Weasley's standing on the other side of the room, looking at us suspiciously.

Fuck. I hope he didn't see anything.

"What's taking so long?" he asks.

Then Potter appears. "Ron, I told you that _I_ would come," he says.

"Well, since you're both here, stay. If you want your darling Ginny to stay here, I'll have to bring her myself," I say.

I risk a glance at Granger and see that her lips look slightly swollen. But maybe I'm only imagining it because I know what we just did. It can't be that obvious to Potter and Weasley, can it? Fuck.

"But… we can't tell you where she is," Potter says.

"Then that's your problem, isn't it?"

"We can take her to a different place that's safe, just for a moment, so Dr—Malfoy can go pick her up," Granger suggests.

"Spinner's End, Snape's old home," I say. "You know where it is. Bring her there in a few minutes. I can meet you—one of you."

"How do you know there won't be Death Eaters waiting there?" Potter asks.

"It's my property—I'm his godson. He left it to me in his will. If anyone's there without my permission, I'll know as soon as they've crossed the wards," I explain.

Potter nods. "I'll go back and tell Blaise to come, and then I'll meet you there."

"Harry, you shouldn't risk it," Granger says. "I'll take Ginny."

"But you only just recovered—" Potter begins to protest.

"If there really is someone waiting at Spinner's End, we can't afford to lose you. I'm going," Granger reasons.

Weasley speaks up. "Hermione, I could—"

"I don't trust you where Malfoy is concerned," Granger says.

"I agree," Potter says before Weasley can argue. "You two shouldn't be left alone."

"Hey, I'm on my best behavior," I say, smirking. "If we have a problem, it won't come from me."

Weasley glares at me but doesn't respond. Either he's finally learned that it's better to hold his temper around me, or he's too thick to come up with a snarky rejoinder. I'm inclined to think it's the latter.

"The less time we spend out in the open, the better," Granger says, interrupting my musings. "I'll send Blaise here, and that'll be your cue to go to Spinner's End."

I nod. "See you there."

"Bye."

Granger Disapparates, leaving me with the two _golden_ boys.

I glance sideways at Weasley, but he's not paying attention. I wonder if he saw us. Most likely, he didn't see a thing—I'm almost positive that he would have overreacted hugely if he did. But honestly, I don't know that much about the guy, and who knows? Maybe he _has_ finally grown a few brain cells and learned to keep calm.

"There's only one bedroom here, isn't there?" Potter asks.

"Yeah, how are we going to fit?" Weasley asks.

I shake my head. "Are you two wizards or not?"

I lift my wand and perform an Undetectable Extension Charm on the living room, drawing it out until it looks about right. Then I throw up a wall to cut off the empty space and fashion a door in the new wall.

"I trust you two can handle your own furniture?" I say.

Potter and Weasley exchange glances before heading into the new guest room.

I pace back and forth in front of the coffee table for a minute, unable to stop thinking about the kiss. My lips are still tingling, and her taste still lingers on my tongue.

Finally, Blaise appears.

"Go ahead and get set up in the room over there," I say, pointing to the new door. "I'll be right back."

He nods and exits the living room—Granger must have explained to him why I have to go as soon as he arrives.

I lift my wand and Disapparate.


	44. Chapter 44 H

**Author's Note:** Happy 31st, Harry Potter! :D Unfortunately, Harry doesn't really make an appearance in this chapter… but still, it's the thought that counts. Read and review! :)

**Chapter 44**

_Do you want me to have feelings for you?_

The question echoes in my head. God… if I was being completely, absolutely honest with myself, the answer would be yes. I can't lie to myself.

Oh god, what does this mean for us? We can't be together. It's just… not possible.

No, no, attention. Pay attention.

Madam Pomfrey is speaking very quickly and stubbornly about something. What? Right, she doesn't want me to take Ginny away. Yes, I know Ginny is weak.

"Malfoy is wealthy, so he has plenty of supplies," I say, interrupting her. "I'll be able to take care of her from his place."

"Nonsense. With an internal injury like that, Side-Along Apparition could be fatal, if you splinch her."

"I won't splinch her," I say.

"Madam Pomfrey," Blaise says, "it's going to be fine. Hermione's really solid at Apparition. And you're going to need as much room as you can get in this house, so having one less person is a good thing. McGonagall would understand."

The nurse looks at us, frowning, but nods her head. "Very well, then."

She bustles away to get back to work. I see Charlie and Mrs. Weasley standing several cots away, looking at Fred. I assume the guys explained where they're going, and where I'll be taking Ginny.

"You sure you don't want me to take her? I could take her to meet Draco," Blaise says to me.

"I'll be fine. We already worked it out. Just show up at his cottage, and he'll know to come meet me," I say. "Go on."

He smiles. "Take care of yourself, Hermione. See you in a few minutes."

"Bye, Blaise."

He Disapparates.

I take another look around the now-crowded room. Many familiar faces have arrived, but most of them are too busy trying to take care of wounded friends or family to take notice of my appearance. I'm sure that if Harry showed up, they'd be all over him, though. It probably _was_ a good thing that I came instead, then. I doubt Harry would have been able to make it out of here.

I grip Ginny's arm tightly and Disapparate, focusing on my destination.

A moment later, my feet hit solid ground, and Ginny lands by me. I levitate her body and move closer to the house. Then there's a pop behind me, and I whirl around, wand pointed at the source of the sound.

Thank god, it's Draco.

My mouth opens, but suddenly, I'm speechless again. He has this look in his eye, one that's very unfamiliar to me. He looks as though he wants to devour me. I instinctively back up a step, and he takes a step forward, as if he's stalking his prey.

Then he smirks, and I'm almost willing to believe that I imagined what just passed between us.

"You brought her," he says, stepping over and reaching down to grab her hand.

I nod. "Draco, before we go back… we really should talk about what just happened."

He grimaces. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why not?" I try imitating his trademark smirk. "Are _you_ afraid this time, Draco?" I ask, reminding both of us of our bet. Feels like it was so long ago.

"Well, I'm not a Gryffindor lion. I don't _have_ to be unafraid."

"So you admit that you're scared."

"Hey, just because I'm saying I'm _allowed_ to be scared doesn't mean I am," he says.

"Then why won't you talk about it?"

He tries to stare me down, but I don't back off.

"We should probably go," he says.

"See, you're running away," I say. Why is he doing this?

"We shouldn't be talking here anyway," he says.

"You said you'd know if anyone tried to come here without your permission. Technically, we're safe here," I point out.

"You trust me that much?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.

"You've saved my life, multiple times. If I could choose to put my life in anyone's hands, I'd choose yours," I reply.

His lips form a faint smile, but it fades almost instantly.

"It's still not safe here," he says. "But fine, I'll give you the answer you're looking for, so that you can finally rest your mind. It's yes."

My heart skips a beat. But my mind yells for me to calm down, to make sure. I _have_ to be sure.

I bite my lip. "Yes to what?"

He pauses, looking at me. I start to wonder whether or not he'll answer.

"Yes, I care about you," he finally says. "Yes, you're important to me. Yes, I worry about you when you're not with me. Yes, I've gotten over the fact that you're a Muggle-born. Is that answer thorough enough for you?"

I fight the smile that's beginning to form on my lips. I'd been horrified of this outcome before, but somehow, all of my fear has left me. I only feel this giddy happiness. I probably shouldn't feel so grateful for this response, because I'm quite sure it'll cause more problems for me. But I never realized just how much I wanted it to be true until he finally admitted it.

"You still in there?" he asks, cutting off my thoughts.

I nod. "Yes, I'm still here."

"Listen… I don't want you to reciprocate these feelings. At least, not yet."

I frown. "Why not?"

"Because it'd be too much like you were doing it out of gratitude."

I open my mouth to protest—who is he to determine what my motivations are? But he holds up a finger to hush me.

"We really should go now," he says. "I have work to do."

"In the middle of the night?" I ask.

"Yes. I'm already late."

"Sorry," I say.

He only shakes his head in response and gets a good grip on Ginny's arm.

A moment later, we're both standing in his living room. Draco walks into his bedroom, and I follow, levitating Ginny to take her inside with us. Draco conjures another bed, and I lower her on top of it gently.

"I'll have Naree supply you and the others with food, so you won't have to worry about that. Unless there's an emergency here, I'll probably be gone for a few days. I advise you not to go outside if you can help it. I don't like the thought of people coming and going as they please."

I nod. "I'll tell the others, then."

"They're staying in a new room, by the way," Draco says. "You'll see the new door when you go back into the living room—if you didn't see it already."

I hadn't noticed, but it isn't very important to me at the moment. "Thank you so much," I say.

He looks indifferent to my words, and I realize that he's hidden himself away again.

"I really should be going," he says.

He keeps saying that, but he hasn't actually left. Is he staying on my behalf? That possibility brings me a strange sort of satisfaction. God, this is going way too fast. I should get my head on straight before I decide on my feelings for him.

But I want to draw out his emotions. I want to break down his walls and force him to show me his feelings for me—now that I know they're there, I selfishly want proof that he cares. I guess this is the girly side of me, craving attention from the boy who's admitted that he likes me.

I step over to him, and he doesn't move away. I lift my hand and gently cup his cheek. He flinches at my touch, and I smile.

"When someone thanks you, you're supposed to say, 'you're welcome'," I say.

His lips twitch with amusement. "_You_ are welcome. _They_ aren't."

"_They_ are my friends."

"And that's why they're here."

"Really, Draco. Thank you," I say softly.

Then I lean up and plant a chaste kiss on his lips.

For a fleeting moment, when our lips are connected, I sense a raging beast inside him that's barely being contained. I back down to my normal height and observe that he's rigid and that his eyes have darkened into deep pools of molten silver.

Some daredevil part of me wants to reach inside him and unleash that beast, just to see what will happen. Draco always has such tight command over his emotions, his words and actions, his _world_. I want to see him spiraling wildly out of control. I want to see him, without all of his restraint.

But the moment passes very quickly, and he gives me a small smile.

"You're welcome, Hermione."

Warmth floods my chest as I hear him address me by my first name for the first time, and I suddenly wish that he'd always called me Hermione.

And then I'm reminded that he's about to leave, that he might be gone for a few days. He could die on any given day—as long as he's not in this cottage, he's not safe. Suddenly I feel so much more worried for him.

"Take care of yourself," I say. "If you don't come back, I'll never forgive you."

Another faint smile. "I'll always come for you."

Then he's gone, and I move to sit down on his bed, a bittersweet sensation filling my body.

I find it so hard to believe that I didn't just imagine that conversation. I pull the heart charm out from under my shirt and look at the initials that are still engraved on it. He gave me this golden heart when we first met, after three years of separation. Suddenly it means so much more that he chose the shape of a heart. I hadn't read into it at the time, of course, but now…

I already can't wait to see him again.

"Did Draco leave already?"

I look up to see Blaise entering the room.

"Yes, he's gone," I reply.

"What were you thinking about?" he asks me.

I shake my head. "Nothing."

"Oh, I know you better than that."

I sigh and get to my feet, holding out my arms. "Give me a hug, okay?"

He smiles. "Whatever you need," he replies, pulling me into a hug.

It feels so good to be held, but Blaise's arms are just different. I recall the feeling of being in Draco's embrace just a few minutes ago, right after we kissed. I wanted him to hold me as close to him as humanly possible. I hadn't felt so safe in years. That I could feel that sort of security around a former nemesis… it's inconceivable.

I hear Ron clearing his throat loudly from the doorway. When this doesn't affect us, he says, "Let go of her, Zabini."

"Hello, Weasley," Blaise says without releasing me.

I can't see anything around him, and I start to back away, but he continues to hold onto me. "It's all right," I say. "You can let go of me now."

Blaise pulls his arms back and turns around to face Ron.

"I always see you grabbing at her. Can't you keep your hands to yourself?" Ron says heatedly.

Blaise smiles. "I don't hear Hermione complaining."

I sigh. "Can't you two just get along?"

"Sure," Blaise says, grinning and backing up a step to put his arm around my shoulders. "I'm perfectly fine with being Weasley's friend. He just has to learn to accept that you and I are friends."

The vein in Ron's forehead is pulsing furiously, and he's glaring at the arm draped around my shoulders, but he doesn't respond to Blaise.

"It's the middle of the night," I say. "Why don't both of you get some sleep? I'm pretty sleepy myself."

Ron doesn't respond, only continues to glare at the offending arm.

"All right. Sleep well, darling," Blaise says.

I turn toward him to raise an eyebrow at him and see that he's grinning widely at Ron's infuriated expression. Then his face turns in my direction, and he leans down to kiss my forehead.

"Get away from her!"

"Ron, shut up!" I hear Harry shout from outside the room.

Blaise starts laughing. Unable to stifle my own giggles, I join him. It's just so amusing to watch—or in this case, I suppose it would be _hear_—Harry act like a parental figure around Ron.

Then Blaise is flung back against the dresser and crashes to the ground.

"_Ronald Weasley!_" I bark, all laughter fading in an instant. I Disarm him and catch his wand. "What the hell are you doing?"

I rush toward Blaise, but he's already getting to his feet. I expect him to be furious, but he's only looking at Ron with an amused expression. It's hard for me to understand—didn't that _hurt?_

"Are you all right?" I ask him.

"Yes, I'm fine," he replies.

I glance back at the doorway to see that Ron is gone. "I'm so sorry about that. I didn't expect—"

"Believe me, I didn't expect it either. Do you think it'd be that easy for him to throw me otherwise?" Blaise says.

"You're taking this rather well," I observe.

He shrugs. "It's just Weasley. I'm used to him by now. I don't understand how the same things still piss him off every single time. You'd think by now he'd be used to seeing me put my arm around you."

"Can you _please_ stop provoking him? He's already short-tempered—he doesn't need any more fuel for his fire."

"It's just so fun," Blaise says. "But I guess I'll give it a try."

"_Thank_ you. I really am sleepy though, so…"

"I just wanted to know… did you ever talk to Draco about—"

"_That_ is none of your business," I say, hiding away the smile that's threatening to spread across my face.

Blaise studies my expression for a moment, and I wonder if he already knows the answer.

"Tell me when you're ready, I guess," he finally says. "Oh, and about what happened at Grimmauld Place tonight… since you're tired, we'll talk in the morning. I'm sure McGonagall will be having a meeting in the morning, when everyone's had some time to recover."

I sigh. "I'd almost forgotten about that."

"Good thing I'm here to remind you, then," he says, smiling. "Well, I'm off to bed. I'll take Weasley's wand back to him."

I pass him the wand. "Good night, Blaise."

"Good night."

He pauses in the doorway to smile once more before pulling the door shut.

I really couldn't have asked for a better friend. Blaise always understands me, and he always takes my side when Harry and Ron are pushing for something else. In the past, they used to say that it was two against one, so I had to go with what they wanted. But the addition of Blaise has really evened things out, since he thinks so much more like me. I'm grateful for him.

I slip under the covers and glance in Ginny's direction. She's stable, but I'll get a bezoar for her in the morning, just to be safe.

I close my eyes and try to picture Draco's face. It comes to mind much more easily than I'd expected: strong jaw line, pointed chin, smooth cheeks, full lips, prominent brow, and those _eyes_… I see his eyes as they were just before he kissed me earlier tonight—hesitant, and more vulnerable than I'd ever seen them before. Those silver eyes had never looked so beautiful to me before.

Yet no matter how accurately I try to recreate his face in my mind, it just seems to fall short of reality.

I miss him.

Oh, no.

* * *

**Author's Note:** You'll get to see what Draco's up to next chapter! Fun, fun.


	45. Chapter 45 D

**Author's Note:** First day of a new month! Gosh, I have finals in two weeks. Crazy how fast the summer passed by…

**Chapter 45**

"Where've you been? I've been waiting for you."

"I was busy. And who are you to question me? Have you talked to him?"

Rowle sighs. "Yes, I have."

"Lose the attitude," I say.

"Malfoy, I missed a summons for this. And now you're late. How can you expect me to—"

"Shut up."

His voice cuts off on command, and he glares at me.

"Do not question me. We both know who's in charge here," I say. "Do you know where it is?"

"He has it locked away, but I saw him glance at the container while we were talking about it."

"Excellent. I want you to retrieve it tomorrow night, at ten o'clock. Come back here, bury it in the backyard, and conjure a rosebush to mark the spot."

"But why can't I just give it to you?"

I smirk. "I can't have anyone knowing that I want it. How are your Memory Charms?"

"Very good," he says.

"Good. If he sees you, make him forget that you ever came. After burying it, you will be finished."

"You'll let me go?"

"Yes, Rowle," I say. "I will let you go."

But I don't know if I'll really let him go. I'll most definitely be modifying his memory so that he only remembers wanting the dagger for himself—that's in case anyone finds out and asks him about it. But then again, if Voldemort decides to break the Memory Charm… maybe I _should_ keep Rowle under the Imperius Curse, even after he's gotten the dagger.

"Is there anything I should do now?" Rowle asks.

"Just be your usual self," I say. "Tomorrow, 10 PM. If you fail and get caught, kill yourself."

His eyes widen. "But—but—I don't want to die."

"Better you than me. If you do your job right, you won't have to die. So I advise you to watch yourself."

Rowle nods obediently.

"Goodbye," I say.

Then I Disapparate, appearing at the Manor moments later. A glance at the clock on my nightstand tells me that it's just past 4 AM. I rub my eyes and consider getting to bed, but I'm starving—I haven't had time to eat since noon. I make my way down to the kitchen to fix myself something to eat.

About twenty minutes later, as I'm returning to my room, I notice a ray of light coming from a crack beneath the door of my parents' chambers. What are they doing up so late? Late night discussions between my parents are never about anything good.

I silently make my way down the hall and press my ear against the door.

"Lucius, I really don't think—"

"I'm tired of having this argument, Narcissa. _I_ am the master of this house, and you _will_ stand down!"

"I don't understand why we can't just wait—"

"Until when?" my father asks. "Until the war is over and the Dark Lord is satisfied? No! You know as well as I do that this will never end. The Malfoy bloodline has lasted for centuries, and it will _not_ end with my son!"

Fuck, I don't like the sound of that.

"These are bad times to bring a child into the world, Lucius."

"We were wed at Draco's age, and he was born into the same type of times as these. He's turned out perfectly fine. In fact, the Dark Lord has even honored him with a seat at the table. What makes you think that Draco's child will not do as well?"

Someone taps my shoulder, and I jump, surprised. I turn to see Aunt Bella standing beside me.

"It's not polite to eavesdrop," she whispers.

I grin. "Would you like to know what I heard?"

She smiles deviously. "Ah, you're becoming more and more like me every day. What is it that you heard?"

"They want me to get married."

Aunt Bella starts cackling, and before I can tell her to be quiet, the door beside us is thrown open.

"Bella, Draco, what are you doing here?" Mother asks.

"Dear Cissy, do you really think Draco will want to settle down right now?" Aunt Bella says.

Father speaks up. "You were listening to our _private_ conversation?"

"No, of course not," Aunt Bella replies. "Draco here was. But before you scold him for being an impertinent child, I'd like to point out that as he was the topic of your conversation, he _did_ have a right to know what you were saying."

"Bellatrix, I _allow_ you to stay in my home. If you cross me—"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Lucius, you know you wouldn't be able to turn me out. The Dark Lord has asked me to keep an eye on you. Imagine what he would think if I went to him with the news that I'd been forcibly removed from your home."

"Are you threatening me?"

"No, no, I would never _threaten_ you. I'm just kindly reminding you."

"Lucius, calm down," Mother says. "Draco, dear, what did you hear?"

"That Father wants me to marry."

"Well, what do you think?" she asks.

Aunt Bella speaks before I have a chance to. "Oh Cissy darling, isn't it obvious? He doesn't want to marry. He's so young—hardly two decades old. He's got such a promising future ahead of him. Imagine how much a marriage would hold him back."

She doesn't quite have the right reason why I don't want to get married, but I don't mind letting her believe that what she said is the truth.

"Marriage didn't hold me back," Father says.

"But look at where you stand, and then look at where I stand."

"You were married."

"Yes, but the key word there is 'were'. I _was_ married, and now I'm not. Marriage is such a distraction. How can one properly serve the Dark Lord with such a distraction?"

"Bella, please don't interfere on this matter," Mother says.

"Who did you two have in mind for my nephew, then?"

"Don't tell—" Father starts to say, but it's too late.

"Astoria Greengrass," Mother says.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," I say without thinking.

"What kind of an attitude is that? What do you have against Miss Greengrass?" my father immediately asks.

"Only that she's about as thick as a cow," I reply, eliciting an amused laugh from my aunt.

"Draco! She's a beautiful young lady. Don't ever let me hear you comparing her to livestock again," Mother reprimands me.

"But it's true. She's dumb as a mule. I can't hold a conversation with her."

"Her intelligence is not a factor—" Father begins.

"Dear god, Lucius, if you think she's pretty, marry her yourself."

"Bella!" Mother exclaims.

I can't help but laugh at that.

"You think this is funny, do you?" Father demands, rounding on me.

Aunt Bella glares at him, all amusement vanishing from her features in an instant. "If you hurt that boy again, I swear to you—"

"He is my son, and I will punish him as I see fit!"

He points his wand at me, but Mother grabs his wand arm to stop him. Father throws her off and points his wand at her instead.

"And you!" he roars. "I've had enough of your insubordination. You _will_ obey me!"

"Lucius, that's enough!" Aunt Bella shouts.

Then Mother is writhing on the ground, a sight too familiar to my eyes. Despite all my years of schooling and all the time I spent practicing spells, I feel like I'm four years old again, unable to lift a finger.

Aunt Bella flicks her wand, throwing Father up against the wall.

"I said, _enough!_" she bellows. "Draco, take his wand from him."

I glance at my mother, who's breathing heavily on the ground. She'll be all right. I step over to my father and pry his wand out of his hands.

"I never liked you, Lucius," Aunt Bella says venomously. "As long as Cissy loves you, I will not hurt you. But I will not stand by and watch them suffer at _your_ hands."

"That's more than slightly hypocritical, don't you think, Bellatrix? You've tortured Draco more than once, yourself," Father says disdainfully.

"Bella please, put him down," Mother says.

She's gotten to her feet and is looking between Father and Aunt Bella worriedly.

"Fine. But consider yourself warned, Lucius."

She releases the spell holding him up and spins on her heel, walking away swiftly. I toss my father's wand at him, and he catches it.

"Mother, Father," I say in farewell.

I turn and follow Aunt Bella down the hall. When we're downstairs, she finally turns around to face me—she knows that I have questions.

"What the hell was that about?" I ask her.

"Contrary to popular belief, I _do_ care for my family."

I nod. "Dark Lord first, family second. I know. But I've never seen you lose it like that before, and this has been going on for years."

"Well, better late than never," she says. "I am sick and tired of listening to Cissy's screams. I _told_ her not to marry into this cursed family."

"Hey, this is _my_ family you're talking about," I say, grinning.

She only sighs in response.

A moment later, she asks, "When will you meet the Dark Lord tomorrow?"

"Nine thirty, at night," I reply.

"Ah, that's too bad," she says. "I was going to ask you to accompany me to pay Mundungus Fletcher a visit."

I frown. "Isn't he a member of the Order? Why would he—"

"Oh, you don't know yet! Tonight, we finally infiltrated the Order's headquarters. You weren't at home when we struck. Unfortunately, Mundungus must not have known all of their locations, because most of them disappeared to some alternate location. We're taking turns, seeing if we can torture it out of him."

"Can the Fidelius Charm be broken by torture?" I ask.

"It's worth a try."

I nod. "I suppose so."

Aunt Bella looks down the hall, in the direction of her quarters. "It's very late, and I have things to do tomorrow, as do you. Go to bed, Draco. And don't worry about your parents. They'll come around."

She starts walking away.

"Aunt Bella…"

She looks at me over her shoulder.

"…thanks."

She gives me a half-smile before disappearing down the dark hallway. I hear her footsteps slowly fade away, and then I head back up to my room.

Lying down on the bed, my head is jumbled up with all the things that happened in the past few hours.

I thought they'd had Mundungus in custody already. How the fuck did he get out? His escape from the Order headquarters explains how the Death Eaters would know where to attack, but I don't see how he could have gotten out.

I can't believe my father is thinking about my marriage. Out of all the things he could be worrying about, he chooses my marriage. Fuck, I don't _want_ to marry Astoria. I'd take Daphne over her. Even _Pansy_—at least she's got a brain, even if she's a bit pug-faced and unpleasant to look at.

But it's all right. They can't _force_ me to marry her. I'll just reject the marriage. Mother doesn't think it's a good time to be wed, anyway.

I ponder whether or not Rowle will be able to pull off the little heist I have planned for him. It's pretty simple, but Rowle is not the brightest man there is. I'm not as worried about his success as I am about covering my tracks. If Voldemort gets wind that his dagger has been stolen, he'll probably go mad. I can't have him finding a connection between Rowle and me—that's why I told Rowle to go at ten o'clock tomorrow evening. At that time, I'm certain I'll still be at Voldemort's side, throwing suspicion off me.

But I still have the sinking feeling that there's a huge chance that this won't work out. My last night in this bed might be coming soon. And then it'll be a bed of earth that I'll forever sleep on.

How bloody poetic of me. Fucking hell.

I close my eyes and inhale deeply through my nose. I can still smell Granger—her distinctive, fresh, flowery scent is so clear in my memory. Just thinking about our kiss has the blood in my body rushing south, and I feel myself hardening.

Fuck, Granger.

I chuckle. I _do_ want to fuck Granger.

Laughing at my own thoughts. I must be tired.

I remember the light kiss that she'd given me, the first one she'd initiated. Her lips pressed so, so softly against mine, and all I wanted was to take her, right then and there. It didn't matter to me that Ginevra Weasley was lying one bed over, or that Blaise, Potter, and Weasley were only separated from us by two doors. I wanted to pound into her until she was screaming my name, loud enough so that the whole world would know that she was _mine_.

Fuck, I'm hard as a rock.

I take a few deep, controlled breaths to slow my heart rate and calm myself down.

_Take care of yourself._

She'd said that so sincerely. It's miraculous that so much tenderness for me could reside in her eyes, even after the pain that I put her through.

_If you don't come back, I'll never forgive you._

I'll be back, Granger. I promise I will.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, what did you think of the little glimpse into my version of life at the Manor? Let me know! (:

By the way, I just posted my first songfic, titled _Addicted_. It was the product of my writer's block for this story, so it has nothing to do with the war, whatsoever. I'd love it if you guys checked it out! Yep, shameless self-promotion ;)


	46. Chapter 46 H

**Author's Note:** One of the reviews suggested that I cut this off and start a sequel if this will extend past 70 chapters or so, and if I really do that, I'll probably want to do it soon… because I don't really see the end yet. The characters don't seem ready to leave my head just yet, so I might (might!) pause on updating for a short while in order to organize my thoughts and see if I have enough material to write a whole continuation story for this one. I've already figured out a place where I could split the story, but I want to make sure I have enough story left to tell…

But until then, enjoy this chapter! (:

**Chapter 46**

I groan, frustrated, and get out of bed.

I only slept a few hours tonight, and I really can't lie in bed anymore, trying to fall asleep. I couldn't stop thinking about Draco long enough to fall sleep, and whenever I _did_ drift off, I dreamt of him doing wicked things to my body.

Cursing my subconscious, I leave the room and shut the door behind me. Then I pace back and forth in the living room, taking deep, calming breaths. An unbearably burning need is consuming me, and I almost want to summon him back here, to make him finish what he started _that_ morning.

That must be why I've felt so tense the past few days. I never liked the idea of touching myself—I've tried it once and didn't care much for it. God, what I wouldn't give to have those long, thin fingers…

Then the door to the boys' room swings open, interrupting me mid-thought, and I immediately turn away, hoping to hide my flushed cheeks. I close my eyes to regain composure.

"Hermione, you're already up," Ron says from behind me.

I nod. "Yes—I couldn't sleep," I say, turning around.

He doesn't seem to notice anything different about me, and I feel relieved. Then Harry and Blaise enter from the next room as well.

"We should go to McGonagall's now, see if anything's been decided yet," Blaise says.

"I want to hear what happened at Grimmauld Place first," I say.

"The others will want to know too. Ron will explain himself to everyone at once," Harry says.

Ron bites his lip and looks at the ground. He must have done something _extremely_ blockheaded, if even _Harry_ isn't defending him.

"One of us should stay behind, to look after Ginny," Blaise says.

"Oh, right," Harry says. "I'll—"

"It's all right, Harry, we can all go," I say. "I'll just call Naree—Naree!"

"Who's Naree?" Ron asks.

Before anyone can answer, there's a loud crack, and the house elf appears.

"Miss Granger called for Naree?" he says, bowing.

"_You_ have a _house elf?_" Ron says incredulously. "What about _spew?_"

"It's S.P.E.W., not _spew_. And if you hadn't noticed, we have more important things on our hands, like a war," I say. "But no, Naree isn't my house elf. He's Malfoy's."

Naree frowns. "Master doesn't like the freckly redhead," he mumbles to me.

"Naree, could you please look after Ginny Weasley for us? She's in the bedroom," I say, ignoring his comment about Ron.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Do you honestly trust _Malfoy's_ house elf to take care of Ginny?" Ron demands.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," I say.

"Are you sure, Hermione?" Harry asks. "The elf just said himself that Malfoy never liked the Weasleys."

"If it makes you feel better, I can stay behind and look after her, as long as you three explain everything to me as soon as you get back," I offer.

"You two need to wake up," Blaise says. "Whose house are we staying in? If you trust Malfoy to keep this place safe, then you can trust his house elf to keep an eye on Ginny."

Naree smiles widely. "Naree thanks Master Blaise. It is nice to see Master Blaise again."

Blaise nods, and I wonder how much Naree knows about the fight between Blaise and Draco three years ago. I can't imagine him being so friendly to Blaise if he knew what kind of damage Blaise had done to Draco, but I can't see why he wouldn't know, either.

"He's got a point," Harry concedes.

I'm glad that he's mature enough to accept that Draco won't hurt us.

"Let's all go, then," he finishes.

"I don't want to leave my sister—"

"She'll be safe. Shut up, and let's go," Blaise says.

"Don't tell me to shut up, Zabini."

"Let's just go," I say. "All right, boys?"

Harry nods and Disapparates, followed quickly by Blaise.

"Thank you, Naree," I say.

"Naree is only doing as Master told him to."

"Still, thank you," I say as Ron Disapparates.

The house elf gives me another big smile before walking into the bedroom that Ginny is lying in.

I Apparate to McGonagall's place and see that most of the stretchers are filled. Some of them are covered completely with white cloth, and my heart sinks. I should have expected that people would die, but it still hurts to see that so many were killed.

A hand rests on my shoulder, and I look up to see Blaise's grim attempt at a reassuring smile. I force my lips into a small smile and grip his hand tightly.

"Minerva and Kingsley are upstairs with the others, waiting for you," Madam Pomfrey says, looking up from a stretcher. "Is Ginevra all right?" she asks.

"Yes, she's fine," I say.

"Thanks, Madam Pomfrey," Harry says as he passes by her.

I follow Harry and Ron toward the staircase, and Blaise walks beside me, keeping a comforting arm around my shoulders. Ron glances back toward us with an angry glint in his blue eyes. In an attempt to preserve some sort of peace in our group, I shrug Blaise's hand off my shoulder. I glance over at him to see an understanding look in his eyes. What have I done to deserve him?

As we start up the staircase, he catches one of my hands and gives it a light squeeze before letting go. On the second floor, we walk down the hall and into the room on the right, which is usually the one used for meetings here.

I enter the room and am grateful to see that so many familiar faces are present—Shacklebolt, McGonagall, Tonks, Tonks' parents, Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, Neville, Dean, and Angelina. There are also quite a few unfamiliar faces, possibly some who were brought back by Shacklebolt.

"It's about time you returned," Shacklebolt says from the head of the table. "I've been told that you are staying at a private residence of Mr. Malfoy's."

"Yes," Harry says.

"Why?"

"It's overcrowded here, and we thought it'd be a good idea to save some space," Harry explains.

Shacklebolt frowns, the creases in his forehead deepening as he considers our logic. "We'll come back to that," he says. "First, I want to know what happened. How did Mundungus Fletcher escape?"

All eyes fall on us, and Harry and Blaise look at Ron, who quickly becomes the focus of everyone's attention.

"I…" he begins shakily. He clears his throat. "It was my turn to guard him, and… I walked out of the room for just a second, and when I came back, he was untied and armed, and I wasn't prepared so he… got away," he finishes lamely.

The room explodes as the occupants all start speaking at once. Several repeated phrases fill the air.

"How could you be so thick?"

"What were you thinking?"

"So many people were hurt and _killed!_"

Then Shacklebolt's rumbling voice drowns out the others. "Quiet down!"

When order is restored to the room, Shacklebolt speaks. "Twelve people died last night," he says. "Eight of those twelve were students. All of their lives are on your hands, Ronald. Why did you leave the room?"

"I… I thought I heard a knock on the front door," Ron says in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

"If someone really had knocked, one of us would have gone to get it," Angelina says furiously. "You were on guard duty, Ron!"

"I'm really, really sorry," Ron says.

"Being sorry, unfortunately, will not bring them back," McGonagall says sternly.

"How could he have been armed?" Neville asks.

His voice is a little shaky, and he's trembling slightly. This night must have taken a toll on him.

"He was bound, and I don't think any of us left our wands lying around," he finishes.

"I don't know," Ron says miserably.

There's an uncomfortable silence as the occupants of the room ponder what that could mean. Is there _another_ traitor in our midst, then? One that helped Mundungus to escape?

Shacklebolt extends the table and adds four chairs. "Sit down," he says to us.

"What are we doing in retaliation, then?" Harry asks. "There's got to be something we can do."

"The only precise location we have for the Death Eaters is the Malfoy Manor, in Wiltshire. And I doubt that it will burn to the ground easily," Shacklebolt says.

"Definitely not," Tonks says. "It's all marble and stone, with ancient spells protecting it."

"Ask Malfoy for information," Bill says. "He said that he's on our side, didn't he? If he's really switched sides, he'll give us what we need to know."

"Hermione, has he told you anything recently?" Shacklebolt asks.

I shake my head.

"He told me that Voldemort has at least one more Horcrux out there," Harry says.

I frown—why didn't Draco tell _me_ that?

"Then it really is possible to split his soul more than he has already," Shacklebolt says resignedly.

"How can you trust that he's telling the truth?" Mrs. Weasley asks.

"He said that he'd get it for me. I figure there's no harm in checking out whatever it is that he brings," Harry reasons.

"When he does give it to you, be careful not to touch it—it may be a Dark object," McGonagall warns.

"Yes," Shacklebolt agrees. "Bring it to me. I'll want to examine it myself before we proceed."

"Before any sort of retaliation, we need to wait both for more information, and for our fighters to recover," McGonagall says.

"We'll reconvene a week from today," Shacklebolt says.

I'm surprised that he's ending the meeting so quickly. But then, I suppose the main reason for it was to find out how exactly Mundungus made his escape. And if there really is a traitor in our midst, it will not do to discuss everything openly. God, how are we going to pick out who it is?

"Most of us should have recovered by then," he finishes.

As the people at the table start getting to their feet and leaving the room, a large, dark man speaks up.

"I think the young one should be punished," he says in a heavy accent that I can't quite identify.

"Oh, he'll be punished all right," Mrs. Weasley says through gritted teeth.

Ron looks intimidated by the murderous look on his mother's face. I think I would be too, if I were on the receiving end of those enraged eyes. The dark man takes a look at Mrs. Weasley and seems to decide that her wrath will probably be punishment enough.

The room empties quickly, and I see Shacklebolt conversing with a few of the strangers as they exit the room. Then Blaise is ushering me out.

"Ronald, I am very disappointed in you," McGonagall says before following us out. She heads in the direction opposite the stairs, following Shacklebolt's group.

"Shouldn't we wait for Ron?" I ask as Harry joins Blaise and me in the hallway.

"No," Harry says. "I don't think Mrs. Weasley will be done with him for a while. Let's go."

"Do you believe what he said?" I ask them as we move toward the stairs.

"Yeah. I've always known he was a blundering idiot. It was just a matter of time before he showed it fully," Blaise says.

I sigh. "I just don't think that Ron would really be _that_ thick."

A little nagging voice in my head tells me that Ron might have been lying—what if _he_ is the traitor? But I've known him for such a long time, and something tells me that no matter how impulsive he is, he wouldn't turn against the Order. And if the Order isn't enough to stop his hand, surely his family is.

"It's hard to believe," Neville says from behind me. "But there isn't really any other explanation, is there? And we all know he's a little careless sometimes."

"This is more than _a little_ careless," Blaise says.

Neville sighs, and I glance back to see that his eyes are extremely sad.

"Are you all right, Neville?" I ask.

He looks up and smiles, but I can see that it's forced. "I just… I hate seeing all these people dying around us," he says. "I can't help but feel like we're all going to end up in those cots, covered with white cloth."

"Oh Neville, we're going to be fine," Blaise says. "Stop whining."

I smack Blaise's shoulder, and he laughs.

"Can't you be a little more sensitive?" I say. I turn my head back toward Neville and tell him, "It'll be all right. We all look after each other, and that's enough."

He smiles and nods. "Yeah…"

I feel bad for Neville. Maybe the war has finally gotten through that hard shell he's been hiding in for the past few years. He was hardened by battles, but seeing deaths like this still affects him—it's proof that the clumsy, adorable Neville is still hidden away somewhere in this tough guy.

Then I see Tonks standing a few feet away from the bottom of the steps, holding little Teddy in her arms.

"Tonks," I say as I reach her. "How's Teddy?"

"He's all right. He was a bit frightened by the fight—we had no warning," she replies.

"Hey, Teddy," Blaise says from right behind me.

The toddler's hair color quickly transitions to lime green, and Tonks laughs lightly. "He's trying for Slytherin green," she explains. "That's what he comes up with every time a Slytherin comes to see him. Say hi, Teddy."

"Hi," Teddy says, waving shyly—he recognizes us, but he's a timid boy.

"Teddy!" Harry says, excusing himself from two wizards unfamiliar to me.

He smiles warmly and holds his arms out, and Tonks passes Teddy to him.

"How's my favorite godson?"

"Your _only_ godson," I correct him, smiling.

"Harry Potter," Teddy says.

Tonks laughs. "Who is Harry Potter, Teddy?"

"My godfather," he answers after a short pause.

His young, adorable voice makes us all smile. It's amazing to think that Tonks is raising a child, despite everything that's going on. It's moments like this that remind me of one of the goals we're fighting for—a safe world for children like Teddy to grow up in.

"Here, give him to me," Tonks says.

"You should probably let him walk around a bit," Harry suggests as he passes Teddy back to Tonks.

"Oh, he ran around all night," Tonks replies with a small smile. "All night after we came here, that is. Madam Pomfrey is _very_ annoyed with him."

I detect a hint of sadness in her eyes. "The full moon is tonight," I realize aloud. "Lupin…"

She smiles again, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Yes, I know what that means for him."

"You don't think they'll let him out to bite anyone, do you?" Harry asks.

"I don't know," she replies. "But it'll kill him if he comes to and realizes that he's bitten someone."

"We'll get him back," Blaise says.

We all know that they're just comforting words. How would we get him back, after all? But they have to be said, and I watch as Tonks' lips stretch into another insincere smile.

"Tonks, please don't force yourself," I say. "We all know this must be very difficult for you."

Blaise steps forward, closer to me, and his hands find mine. He fingers thread between mine, and he squeezes my hands gently, as if to remind me that he's there for me.

Tonks catches the gesture. "How are you two?" she asks.

I shake my head and start to pull my hands forward to get them out of his grip, but Blaise's feet seem to be rooted into the floorboards, and the only thing I succeed in doing is pulling myself backwards into his arms. My cheeks flush.

"It's not like that," I say, elbowing him to make him let go of me. He releases me, chuckling.

Tonks nods. "Sure, it isn't," she says, but thankfully, she doesn't press further. "So, where is this place that you're staying at?"

"We can't say—it's under the Fidelius Charm," Harry says.

"What possessed all of you to take up Malfoy's offer?" she asks. "He's a slippery one. I haven't seen him much, but I've heard enough from my mother."

"Actually, he didn't offer. We had to ask him to let us stay," I say.

She frowns. "And you really think you'll be safe, staying with him?"

"Draco's not evil," Blaise says.

"Well… kudos to you for giving him the benefit of the doubt, I guess," she says. "I would never consent to staying at his home, Fidelius Charm or not. Of course, I've been raised to think that both of my aunts married the worst type of people possible, so it's a hard prejudice to overcome."

"Malfoy did promise that he'd look for Lupin," I say.

She shakes her head. "I doubt that. He wouldn't stick his neck out for a werewolf. He believes so strongly in blood purity, and that's just for humans. Remus isn't even the same _species_ as him anymore. I highly doubt he'd take any risks for him."

"He might surprise you," I say.

Harry looks at me, surprised. "Why are you defending him?"

"He _did_ save me and Blaise from that prison, didn't he?" I remind him.

Then a few more wizards with unfamiliar faces start coming in our direction, probably to talk to Harry.

"We should go," Blaise says.

"Yes, let's," Harry says, Disapparating as soon as he's finished speaking.

"Be wary of Draco," Tonks says. "I know you might have decided that he's trustworthy, but I still don't have a good feeling about him."

"Draco! Slimy git," Teddy says.

I laugh at those words, coming out of the mouth of a three-year-old. He probably doesn't even know what the words mean.

"Yeah, he's a slimy git, that one," Blaise says, grinning.

Then he grabs my hand, and we Disapparate.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, Malfoy Manor last chapter, McGonagall's house this chapter! I for some reason found this one harder to write. Blegh… is it a bad thing that I like writing the dark side better than the light? xD


	47. Chapter 47 D

**Author's Note:** I was going to update yesterday, but I didn't sleep the night before and I had a headache and homework to finish, so editing this next chapter just didn't get done. And I'm still unsure whether or not I really want to start a new story. I sort of just feel like plowing through to the end. I certainly don't feel like coming up with a title for the continuation…

On a totally random note, I usually don't like country songs, but for some reason I haven't been able to stop listening to "Remind Me", a duet by Brad Paisley and Carrie Underwood. If you haven't heard it before, check it out! I love the melody, the lyrics, the message of the song… it's great.

Anyway, this chapter is a bit shorter than the last few, but I hope you like it anyway!

**Chapter 47**

"Crucio!"

Fuck!

I hold back a scream and strain to remain on my knees, but thousands of red-hot knives are plunging into me simultaneously, and I want more than anything to just roll over and die.

My legs give out beneath me, and the cold, stone floor comes up to meet my tortured limbs. The pain redoubles with a fury, and I know that he's punishing me.

For what?

What have I done wrong?

No, no screaming. I will _not_ make a sound.

I curl up into a ball, trying my best to shut the pain out.

It's all mental.

There aren't _really_ thousands of daggers piercing my body and dragging through my flesh. There aren't _really_ millions of needles pricking my skin like I'm a giant pincushion. There aren't _really_ a dozen wolves ripping at my body mercilessly.

Why can't I just die already?

Then the pain lifts, and I lie on the ground, panting.

"Abysmal," he hisses from above me. "You're beginning to disappoint me, Draco."

I pinch the bridge of my nose as a painful headache starts right behind my eyes. "Sorry, My Lord."

"I already told you that the Torture Curse is completely mental. Pain is in the mind. You're such a talented Occlumens—surely you can close your mind to it?" he sneers. "Again—on your feet."

Fuck. I ignore the ache in my limbs and get to my feet. I lurch slightly and wonder how many times it's happened tonight.

No, I won't think about pain. I have to close out… the pain. But the pain is clearly _inside_ me. How do I close my mind to myself?

And then a sharp, excruciating pain hits me in the chest, and I know that he's using his modified torture curse on me. My legs immediately buckle, and gravity slams me into the ground. A tortured cry tears from my lips as the pain magnifies. Maybe I'll pass out.

Please let me pass out.

There's something gnawing at my chest relentlessly, and I begin to scratch at myself deliriously, trying to get it out.

Then it disappears, and the pain begins to fade away.

"Pathetic."

I laboriously pull myself up into a sitting position. "You can't expect me to master this in one session."

"I can expect whatever I want from you," he says sternly. "Do not be naïve enough to think otherwise."

"You can keep this up all night, but I doubt I'm going to do much better than this," I say, pushing myself up onto my feet.

"Then you do not think highly enough of yourself. Prepare."

I close my eyes and wait for the pain, but when it doesn't hit me, I open my eyes to find that Voldemort's watching me quietly.

"My Lord?" I inquire.

"Let me show you how to do it successfully," he says.

He passes my wand back to me, and I stare at him, surprised and a little frightened. He can't possibly…

"What do you want me to do?" I ask.

"Was that not obvious enough?"

I point my wand at him. "Crucio."

Voldemort hardly even flinches as the curse hits him, and my eyes widen. I suppose I should have expected that he was able to do it himself, if he was trying to train me. But looking at him right now, I would never suspect that he's under the Torture Curse. How the _hell_…?

I try to increase the intensity of the curse, but I feel so tired, drained. Voldemort's lips curl into a sneer as he easily throws off my weakening curse.

"That was pitiful," he says. "It's no wonder that the Mudblood didn't cave to your torture. Is that _really_ the best you can do?"

It won't do to wallow in self-pity, or to make excuses. He won't take that from me.

I point my wand at him again, trying to focus past the blinding headache that has developed behind my eyes. _Crucio Locus!_

Voldemort's eyes flash in anger as he staggers back a step. Then he throws off the curse and Disarms me.

"I expected more from you," he hisses.

"I mean no disrespect, but don't you think your ability to withstand the Torture Curse might have to do with your incomplete soul?" I ask.

His red eyes narrow to slits. "Before my first Horcrux, the Torture Curse already had no effect on me. Don't make excuses. Excuses are for the weak."

I nod. I don't want this to keep going on.

"Again," he says. "Brace yourself."

I grit my teeth as the pain sets in again. Claws rip my chest and arms into ribbons.

I clench my jaw and force my body to stay rigid under the onslaught of pain. When my legs threaten to buckle beneath me, I ball my hands into fists, digging my nails into the flesh of my palms. That gives me a tiny bit of control over some of the pain, however small.

I let out a cry of frustration and pain as nails hammer into my skull. I fall onto my knees, clutching my head, hardly capable of thought.

I only want it to be over.

Fuck, when will this be _over?_

At long last, Voldemort lifts his wand, and I draw in long, repeated breaths, sitting back on my heels.

"Finally, some progress. On your feet."

My muscles scream in protest as I get to my feet. "You say that pain is only in my mind, but in the aftermath—"

"It is still in your mind," Voldemort says. "Such weakness, Draco. I thought you had more control over your mind. I will keep your wand until I am satisfied with your performance."

I frown. "I'll need it."

"For what? I expect you should be rather adept at wandless magic by now. Take this as an exercise. We meet at the same time, tomorrow."

I want to protest, but before I can even open my mouth, Voldemort morphs into a cloud of dark smoke and slowly disperses.

I curse loudly. Then I move to the exit of the cavernous room, with the intention of Disapparating, but I find that I can't—I don't have a wand, and I'm not strong enough. I sigh heavily and take my broom out of the pouch in my pocket. I mount it and take off.

I'm so fatigued that I almost fall off twice while in the air.

I'd originally planned to go to Rowle's to pick up the dagger tonight. I won't be able to, not unless I recover or get my wand back. Damn, it'll have to wait until tomorrow. I consider sending Naree instead, but I don't want to involve anyone else with something as sensitive as the Horcrux. Potter will just have to wait.

All pain is in the mind, bollocks! What the fuck is wrong with Voldemort? No human should be able to block out pain like that.

Then again, he's hardly _human_, is he?

When I finally touch down in the gardens of the Manor, I dismount and stow my broom away. I stumble into the house and move up to my room, where I collapse onto the bed, exhausted. I want to sleep, but I feel so filthy, covered in dried sweat.

I get back up and walk into my private bathroom, stripping down for a shower.

As the warm water beats down on me, the silver charm burns on my chest, and I lift it up so see the words, _Please come_.

I sigh. Looks like I won't be getting much rest tonight.

I close my fist around the charm. _30 minutes_.

I finish showering quickly, rushing so that I'll have some time to sleep and at least partially recover. I can't possibly make it to my home without resting. Before drifting off, I summon Naree and command him to wake me in twenty minutes, if I'm not already awake by then.

He gives me a salute and disappears.

I glance at the huge volume sitting on my nightstand and run my hand along the spine. _Hogwarts, A History_. It's a bloody awful book, but I just can't seem to part with it.

Every time I see it, I think of her. I remember how she looked sitting at a table in the library, surrounded by a barricade of books so that she wasn't visible from the front or sides, except for that distinctive bushy hair of hers.

I never paid much attention to her as a girl until fifth year. I think it had to do with Voldemort's entry into my life right after fourth year. Death became _real_ to me and, as a result, so did life. I started _really_ opening my eyes then, reevaluating all of the people in my life.

And when I looked at for the first time Granger through those new eyes, I didn't see dirty blood, unkempt hair, or her neat school uniform. All I could see were those honest, perceptive, breathtaking, brown eyes. I remember throwing some careless insult at her to mask the moment, sure that it would never repeat itself. But time and time again, every time I was in her presence, I found myself wishing for those brown eyes to notice me, to sparkle with delight when she saw me.

Blaise was the first to notice and acknowledge my new attachment to Granger. On some subconscious level, I was probably aware, but I was in denial.

Not anymore. I hate these feelings for her, but I know that my life would be… _empty_ without them.

No, no more thinking. I have to rest, or else I won't be going anywhere tonight.

Time to sleep.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yeah, I know there probably isn't supposed to be a way to resist the Torture Curse. But Old Voldy's always doing the impossible, and I figure I've already let him invent a "new and improved" torture curse, so he may as well have figured out a countercurse for the Cruciatus.

My muse has been awfully quiet lately, leaving me to flounder around on my own, so it's relatively slow going. I blame upcoming finals. They might have scared her away. Anyway, I'll try to keep updating. And I'll let you guys know ahead of time whether or not I decide to split the story.


	48. Chapter 48 H

**Author's Note:** All right, I've decided. I'm not splitting the story up. I have no idea how many chapters this will eventually have, because I definitely did not anticipate ever getting up to chapter 48 (I started this off thinking it'd be over in 10-20 chapters…), but I'm just going to ignore the count and keep writing.

**Chapter 48**

"We don't _need_ Malfoy."

I sigh, annoyed.

Ron returned almost a full hour after Harry, Blaise and I left McGonagall's place, and though he wouldn't say much, he did tell us that they took their sweet time interrogating him.

We're all fairly certain that someone on the inside must have helped Mundungus escape, and since Shacklebolt decided that Ron could leave, I figure that he must not have found anything incriminating him. Ron was absolutely rotten at Occlumency when he tried it—he's ruled by his emotions even more than Harry—so I'm sure that if he were the traitor, Shacklebolt would surely have discovered it.

"Please stop being difficult, Ron," I say. "We _do_ need him. We wouldn't be so desperate for information if you hadn't been so stupid and let Mundungus escape."

"It's not like I did it on purpose!" he protests.

"Don't snap at her," Blaise says. "You screwed up. Take some responsibility."

"Shove it, Zabini."

"Can you all just shut up?" Harry says irritably. "You're giving me a headache."

"Ginny should probably be waking up soon," I say. "I'll go check on her."

I leave into the next room, and a few minutes later, Ginny wakes.

"Ginny," I say with a small smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Starving…" she mutters. "And really, really sleepy."

"You can't eat for another eight or nine hours," I say apologetically.

She frowns. "Why not?"

"You were attacked by some sort of a worm that started digesting your internal organs. Madam Pomfrey was able to numb you to the pain of re-growing, but you can't eat until your stomach is whole and fully functioning again," I explain.

Ginny closes her eyes, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "That sounds awful…"

"I know. Be grateful that you don't have to feel it," I reply.

"I'm so sleepy," she whispers.

"Good—try to get back to sleep," I tell her. "I'll let you know when you can eat again, all right?"

She nods sleepily, and I pat her forehead gently. She slips into unconsciousness quickly—I can tell when the slight crease between her eyebrows disappears. I reach over and pull the covers more snugly about her shoulders and get to my feet to join the boys in the living room.

"How is she?" Harry asks as soon as I'm outside.

"She was awake for a moment. I told her to go back to sleep, because she can't eat yet," I report. "It'll be best for her to sleep through the hunger."

Harry nods in agreement. "I'll see her later, then. Malfoy should be coming any minute now—it's been over half an hour already."

"Maybe he won't come," Ron says, sounding almost hopeful.

"You should want him to come, Weasley," Blaise says. "Don't you want to redeem yourself, even a little?"

Ron glares at him but doesn't respond.

Then there's a pop, and Draco appears behind the couch, on which Harry and Blaise are seated. They both get to their feet when Draco arrives, but Ron stays seated in the armchair that he'd conjured himself—it's bright red and contrasts sharply with the rest of the room.

"Evening, ladies," Draco says, smirking. "How may I help you?"

Blaise chuckles.

"We need information," Harry says.

"About?"

"Anything," Harry replies. "Locations of Death Eater camps, how strong they are, names of members, how many—"

"Do I _look_ like a walking Death Eater encyclopedia to you?"

"You said that Voldemort told you about his Horcrux. You've got to know _something_ useful," Ron says.

"Doesn't mean I have to tell you anything."

"Ron," I say before he can speak, "can you go check on Ginny?"

"But you just checked on her."

"That wasn't the point, Weasley," Blaise says.

"What, are you trying to get rid of me?" Ron says, looking at me angrily.

"We'll tell you what we find out," Harry says.

Ron huffs and gets to his feet. "I'll go make myself something to eat," he says, disappearing into the kitchen.

My eyes are on Draco—I noted that his hand was resting on the back of the couch when he appeared, and I didn't think too much of it at the time, but it's still there, and he hasn't moved an inch since he arrived. I hope that I'm just thinking too much.

I see that he's looking at the red armchair with distaste, but I'm surprised when he doesn't do anything to remove the offending furniture.

"Malfoy," I say, "are you all right?"

He smirks. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Draco, we really do need—" Blaise starts.

"Yes, yes, I know. Mundungus Fletcher is with us—they're trying to break the Fidelius Charm through torture," Draco says.

"They… they can't do that, can they?" Harry asks.

"I don't think so. But if Voldemort does the job himself, I wouldn't say it was impossible—he's reversed Memory Charms through torture, before."

I remember what I'd been told about a woman named Bertha Jorkins who had worked for the Ministry a while back.

"Please, just give us something to work with," I say.

"I did hear about Lupin, earlier today," he says.

"Tonight's the full moon," I say. "What did you hear?"

"I wasn't going to tell you because I didn't have enough information. I've only heard that they're planning to let him run with Greyback tonight."

"We have to stop him, then," Harry says immediately.

"And this is exactly why I didn't want to tell you," he says. "I have no idea where they could be."

"What's something that we _can_ use, then?" Blaise asks.

Draco sighs. "This isn't how it works. I'm not just some source of information that you can tap into at will. I don't know everything. That's why I wanted to be the one to initiate contact. That way, I won't have to risk a meeting for nothing."

"That's a lie, Draco. You have to know some places that we can attack," Blaise says.

"Sure. I can give you locations, but I can't tell you how many fighters they have, or where the important Death Eaters are. I won't send you into a fight blind, especially when you're outnumbered."

"You've given this some thought," Harry says, mildly surprised.

"Obviously. I don't want this war to go on any longer than you do."

"Well, we're meeting the rest of the Order in a week," I say. "Can you get us some usable information by then?"

"I can't promise anything. I haven't been working missions or patrols lately."

"Then what _have_ you been doing?" I ask.

I note that he still hasn't removed his hand from the back of the couch, and though he looks completely relaxed and at-ease, that one hand is strained, as though he's supporting his weight. There must be something wrong—it isn't just me.

"I'd rather not say," he says evasively.

"Why not?" Harry asks.

"I can choose what to tell you—if Voldemort finds out about me, I'm the one who's going to be tortured to death… or worse."

"We know you're in danger. But we're _all_ in danger, Draco," Blaise points out.

"As long as you stay here, technically, nothing can touch you," Draco says.

"But we won't always be here. We're all at risk. We're all on the same side," Blaise argues.

"Sure. Now that I'm on your side, you'd have to be thick not to know that I'm at greater risk than you are, especially since I'm around Voldemort on a daily basis."

"We know the risk you're taking for us, and we're grateful," Harry says. "But we need more than just you saying that you have information."

"Fine," Draco says. "If you really need something this instant, I can tell you that you might be able to retake Hogwarts."

Harry's green eyes brighten. "Explain."

"You'll have to wait for everyone to recover from the attack on the Order, but I already gave you the times and locations for shift changes, and I know that they haven't changed—although I can still verify that for you when I get back. Hogwarts just isn't a priority anymore, to him. Especially now that Dumbledore's gone."

"Who has that list of shift changes?" Blaise asks us.

"Shacklebolt had it, last time I checked," Harry says.

"So, what you're suggesting is that we arrive ahead of time of the shift changes to incapacitate and take the place of the Death Eaters on duty, and then subdue the replacements when they come?" I ask.

Draco nods. "Precisely. It's foolproof. You'll take over silently, effectively, and without bloodshed—on your side, that is."

"_Our_ side," I correct him.

"The trouble is getting onto the grounds and to the shift change locations without getting caught," Blaise says.

"That's easy. We have paths for the patrols. I can give you a map," Draco says. "You can duplicate it as many times as you need to."

"I do really want to retake Hogwarts," Harry says.

"Our home away from home," Blaise says, nodding in agreement.

"It was my only real home," Harry says, a sad look on his face.

"Are you satisfied now?" Draco asks.

Blaise nods. "Thanks, mate."

"I should get going, then."

If I don't speak up, he's going to leave. And I suddenly realize that I don't want him to go, yet. "Can I have a word with you, alone?" I ask.

Draco looks hesitant, and I notice an exchanged glance between Harry and Blaise.

"Please," I add.

He finally nods. "All right, but I have to leave soon," he says.

He moves into his room, and I give Harry and Blaise a smile before following him in. I shut the door and lock it behind me.

"Muffliato," I mutter.

"If you were looking for privacy, we probably shouldn't be here," he comments, jerking his head toward Ginny's sleeping form.

"Ginny's asleep, and she will be for a while," I say.

Draco sits down on my—no, his—bed. "So, what do you want from me?"

I look at him for a moment and decide to come straight out with it. "I want you to tell me what's wrong with you."

He grins. "What makes you think something's wrong with me?"

"You put up a good act, but I can tell you're weaker than usual. Why?"

"Did I just hear you call me weak?"

"Don't try to distract me."

"No really, it's offensive," he says, still grinning. "I am not weak."

"Draco! I am not in the mood for joking around with you, all right?"

He sighs. "It's not a big deal. It doesn't matter," he says with a shrug.

"What do you _mean_, it doesn't matter?"

I take a few steps over to him and tug him to his feet. He grips my arms to steady himself, swaying slightly, and his furious eyes fix on me.

"See?" I say. "You can hardly stand on your own!"

He shakes his head. "I'm just tired," he says.

I reach up to place a hand on his cheek. His skin is so cold.

"I'm worried about you, Draco."

He just stares into my eyes for a long time, not speaking. What's going on in that frustratingly closed mind of his?

"Draco?" I prod tentatively.

He backs away and steps around me.

"I'm fine, Hermione."

When he says my name, I get that same warm feeling in my chest.

"It's nothing I can't handle," he continues. "Stop worrying about me."

"You said you cared about me, didn't you?" I say, turning around to see that he has his back to me.

"You were right there, weren't you?" he replies. "Shouldn't you know?"

"Draco, I—"

Before I can finish, he spins around and puts a finger over my lips. "I don't have time for this," he says.

I fix my eyes on his, watching them carefully. Then I lean my head forward just slightly to kiss his finger and watch as his eyes darken by a few shades. I take his hand in both of mine.

"I was only going to say thank you," I say.

"For what?"

I laugh. "For what, you ask. For saving me when I should have died in the Forbidden Forest. For giving me this charm that you clearly modified for my protection. For stopping Montague when he… when he…"

I've avoided thinking about it, and now that I've mentioned it, the memory of that moment, the raw terror that gripped me, the tension that filled my body… all of it suddenly rises to the surface, and my voice breaks.

Then his arms are wrapped tightly around me, and my face is pressed into his chest.

"Thank you so, so much," I whisper into his shirt.

I gently push at him, and he releases me. I lean up and kiss his lips, but as soon as I come into contact with those smooth, soft lips, his hands grip my shoulders and push me backwards.

"You have _got_ to stop doing that," he says in a strained voice.

I shake my head.

He can't control my emotions. I don't care if he thinks I'm only acting out of gratitude. This is what I want right now, and it certainly doesn't feel like gratitude.

I shove his hands away from my shoulders, clutch the front of his crisp, white shirt, and press my lips to his. When he remains stubbornly still, I slip my tongue out to flick his lip, trying to entice him to open his mouth. Instead, to my dismay, he starts backing away.

I won't lose so easily. I hang onto him, and his attempts to push me away are frighteningly weak.

He takes another step back and trips, and we both topple over onto the ground.

"Fuck…" he groans.

"Are you all right?" I ask, getting off him and hopping to my feet.

He's still lying on the ground, jaw clenched tight—the very image of suppressed pain. I immediately regret choosing tonight to be so aggressive with him. He's clearly not well. Why was I so reckless? What was I _thinking?_

I extend my hand to him. "I'm so sorry," I say.

He sits up, ignoring my hand. "Naree!" he barks.

"Draco, what are you—"

Naree appears with a loud crack. I look over and am relieved to see that Ginny is still asleep.

"Naree told Master he should not be going anywhere," the house elf says. "Master didn't listen."

"Shut up and take me back," Draco says through gritted teeth.

"No, wait just one minute. What's wrong with you?" I demand.

"Naree, _now!_"

Naree grabs Draco's forearm, and they vanish.

I curse loudly and sit on the bed, trying to think of what could have made him so unwell. I don't understand why he won't tell me what happened—he's allowed to save my life, and I'm not allowed to do _anything_ for him? Somehow that just doesn't seem fair.

A few minutes later, when I've calmed down, I go back out into the living room—the boys don't know that Draco's left yet.

"Where's Draco?" Blaise asks.

"He left," I say. "He said he had to go."

"We should tell Shacklebolt and McGonagall about the plan for Hogwarts," Harry says.

"Not yet," Blaise says, shaking his head. "We should wait until we have all the information—Draco's still getting us the patrol routes."

Harry nods. "Good idea." He turns to me. "Is Ginny awake?"

I shake my head. "No, I don't think so."

"I'll go sit with her anyway," he says.

"If you want, you can stay in my bed tonight," I offer. "I can sleep out here, on the couch."

"Don't sleep on the couch. You can take my bed, if you're letting me sleep in yours."

Blaise grins. "Yeah, you know you can trust me and Weasley."

I smile. "Him I trust. You, not so much."

"Oh, that hurts."

"Are you sure there's nothing between you two?" Harry says, looking back and forth between us.

"Obviously, we're madly in love," Blaise says.

Harry laughs. "Seriously, Blaise. I won't be mad. You're a great guy, and Hermione deserves that."

"Stop it, Harry. There's really nothing going on between us," I say.

"I'll take good care of her," Blaise says, pulling me into his side.

Harry opens the door to the bedroom. "I approve."

As he leaves, I throw a punch at Blaise.

"Ow! You're so violent," he complains.

"You need to stop joking around like that."

He pouts adorably. "But I thought it was true love, forever and ever."

I try my best to give him a stern look, but it's impossible for me to keep a straight face when he has that expression on his face, and I end up bursting into laughter.

"Yeah, all right. Rejoice in my pain. That's all I'm good for," he mutters, still pouting.

I step forward to give him a hug. "You really are the best, you know that?"

His arms come up around me. "Of course I know that," he says. "I'm surprised it took you so long to notice."

I thump a fist on his chest but can't hold back a smile. "You're so full of yourself."

"Yes, I am."

I back up and move to sit down on the couch. And not a moment too soon—just as I lower myself onto the couch, Ron emerges from the kitchen.

"Is Malfoy gone, finally?" he asks.

I roll my eyes. "Can't you be less rude to him?"

He looks at me as though I've just sprouted a second head. "He's _Malfoy!_"

"You've used that at least a dozen times. It doesn't mean anything, Ron," I say.

"Honestly, you should get over it. Even Harry trusts him," Blaise says.

Ron shakes his head and goes back into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.

"Well, that's a hopeless case if there ever was one," Blaise comments.

I shake my head. "I think I'm going to go to bed."

Blaise grins. "Want me to join you?"

"Not when you're smiling like that," I reply with a teasing smile of my own.

I get to my feet and head for the boys' room. Blaise's soft footfalls follow me into the room.

"Harry and Weasley tried to change the color of the walls, but they wouldn't change," he says as he closes the door behind me.

I sit down on the middle bed—I know it's Harry's because Ron and Blaise always have to be as far apart as possible. So mature of them.

"It's been a long day," Blaise comments.

I nod in agreement and slip under the covers. "Good night, Blaise."

As I close my eyes, I feel the covers being lifted up. My eyes pop open, and I smack Blaise as he crawls into bed next to me.

"Blaise, get out!"

He just laughs, and I escape from the other side before he can nab me.

"Damn, Harry's good at conjuring mattresses," he remarks. "This one's so much softer than mine. I think I'll just stay here."

"Blaise, get up."

"No, I don't think so. You can have my bed, though," he says.

I sigh and walk around Harry's bed to Blaise's—it's obvious from the green covers which one is his. As I slide under the covers and shift to get comfortable, I realize that this mattress really is firmer than Harry's. Oh, Blaise. He _would_ choose the softer mattress.

I yawn and pull the covers up to my chin, curling up on my side and closing my eyes to sleep.

What's wrong with Draco? I have to find out. I'll get it out of Naree tomorrow… I'm sure he'll be easier to fool than Draco.

I inhale deeply, and Blaise's familiar, comforting scent washes over me.

"Good night, Hermione," I hear Blaise say.

I smile. "Good night, Blaise."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I was going to put this in an author's note a chapter or two ago, but I forgot, so here it is.

In case any of you guys were wondering (someone did bring this up in a review and I wanted to clear it up), Mundungus gave away three places: Grimmauld Place, Shell Cottage, and the Tonks' home. He was a Secret Keeper for Grimmauld Place and Shell Cottage because Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley both died (when a Secret Keeper dies, all the people he/she told about the place become Secret Keepers as well). As for the Tonks' home, the Secret Keeper is allowed to communicate the location in writing, so it's implied that Mundungus somehow got a slip of paper with the address of the Tonks' home to give to the Death Eaters.

I wasn't sure if this was really necessary because it's sort of just a technicality, but I figured it wasn't a bad idea to explain anyway.


	49. Chapter 49 D

**Author's Note:** I was doing math homework, but a problem just REALLY didn't want to cooperate with me, so I decided to leave it alone for a while and edit a new chapter for you guys! Yay.

**Chapter 49**

"So, what do you want from me?"

I'm relieved to rest my legs. I thought I'd collapse out there. Apparating here took up way too much strength. I should've asked Naree to bring me. I can't imagine what it'll take to get back home.

"I want you to tell me what's wrong with you," she says.

I glance up at her and smirk. "What makes you think something's wrong with me?"

"You put up a good act, but I can tell you're weaker than usual. Why?"

Is it _that_ obvious? "Did I just hear you call me weak?" I say, avoiding her question.

"Don't try to distract me," she says impatiently.

"No really, it's offensive," I say. "I am not weak."

"Draco!" she snaps. "I am not in the mood for joking around with you, all right?"

The irritated look on her face bothers me more than it should, and I struggle with the urge to tell her everything she wants to know. She doesn't need to know anything about my training. No one knows, and telling her would be a dead giveaway that I'm the traitor, if she ever falls into _his_ hands again.

No—I won't let her get caught again. It's not going to happen again.

"It's not a big deal," I tell her. "It doesn't matter."

She steps over, grabs my arms, and practically hauls me to my feet. My legs tremble, and I lose my balance for a moment, keeping firm grips on her arms to stay upright. I glare at her. What the fuck is she trying to do?

"See?" she says, as though she's proved her point. "You can hardly stand on your own!"

Fine, I guess she _has_ proved her point.

The only strategy I have left is deny, deny, deny.

"I'm just tired," I say, shaking my head at her.

She touches my cheek, and I resist the desire to turn my face into her palm.

"I'm worried about you, Draco," she says in a quiet voice.

Fuck. I almost wish that she would go back to treating me with indifference, or even disdain. This new concern for my safety is only strengthening the attraction I feel toward her. And now that Voldemort wants to see me consistently, I have to be even more careful than before. I'm solid, except in matters concerning her, which means I'll have to cut my interaction with her to a minimum.

Maybe I shouldn't have admitted my feelings for her. If I'd told her I didn't give a shit about her, maybe she wouldn't care so much right now.

"Draco?" she says.

Returning to earth, I back up a step and move around her. "I'm fine, Hermione," I say to my bedroom door. "It's nothing I can't handle—stop worrying about me."

"You said you cared about me, didn't you?" I hear her say.

Is this her being insecure, or is she about to try to make another point? I decide not to give her a straight answer, just in case she tries to twist my words.

"You were right there, weren't you? Shouldn't you know?"

"Draco, I—"

I turn quickly and place a finger over her lips to stop her from speaking. I don't want her to say that she's developing emotions for me. The last thing I need right now is for bloody _hope_ to start bubbling in my chest. There's no worse distraction in the world. And I can't be distracted.

"I don't have time for this," I tell her.

Her eyes burn into mine, and I almost want to pull my hand back. I can tell she's made up her mind to do something—there's that determined look in her eyes—I just can't tell _what_ it is that she's going to do.

Then she does something that catches me completely by surprise—she kisses my finger.

A bolt of electricity travels up my arm and straight into my heart, but I don't break eye contact with her. I fleetingly wonder if she can see through to my soul.

Then her hands wrap around my lifted hand. They feel so soft, so warm. That's typical Hermione though, I guess—soft and warm. Then I scold myself. There will be no referring to her as Hermione. If I have to start hiding away every mention of her in my thoughts, it'll be far too easy to let one slip.

"I was only going to say thank you," she says.

"For what?"

She laughs lightly before responding.

"For what, you ask. For saving me when I should have died in the Forbidden Forest."

When did she figure _that_ out? I never said a word about it. Did she recognize my mask?

"For giving me this charm that you clearly modified for my protection," she continues. "For stopping Montague when he… when he…"

Her voice falters, and I sigh. She's clearly traumatized by what could have happened—what _would_ have happened. Sensing that she needs comfort, I reach out and pull her into my arms.

"Thank you so, so much," she whispers.

It stings me that all I have is her gratitude. Once that's gone, everything will go back to normal, I'm sure. I guess we'll be more civil toward each other.

Then she's pushing at my chest, and I let my arms fall away, expecting her to back away. But instead, she lifts herself up and presses her lips to mine.

Fuck!

I immediately grab her by the shoulders and hold her away from me.

"You have _got_ to stop doing that."

She shakes her head and swats my hands off her shoulders. Why do I have to be so fucking weak right now? Then her lips are on mine, and I'm almost overcome by the heavenly sensation that I only feel when I'm kissing _her_.

No, no, no. The more memories I have of this, this blissful feeling, the harder it'll be to hide it from Voldemort—he could decide to take a peek at any given moment.

When she runs her tongue across my lips, my mind seems to clear up a little, and I try to back away from her. She steps forward with me, an arm around my neck to keep me from escaping. I try to push her away from me, but in my pitifully weakened state, I can't fight her off. I don't really _want_ to.

God, I'm pathetic.

I try to step back again, but when she leans forward and puts some more of her weight onto me, my legs buckle, and I crash heavily to the ground.

Fuck…

She immediately gets to her feet. "Are you all right?" she asks.

Voldemort _had_ to have been lying when he said that all pain is in the mind. This pain _clearly_ isn't in my mind right now! Goddamn it.

"I'm so sorry," she says in a soft voice.

I slowly sit up and realize belatedly that she'd been holding out a hand to help me. But it's just as well that I didn't accept her help. I'd prayed for her to reciprocate my feelings before, but now, just as it's beginning to seem possible, Voldemort decides that he'll need me around more often.

Just my fucking luck.

"Naree," I call out hoarsely.

"Draco, what are you—" Granger begins.

Then Naree appears. "Naree told Master he should not be going anywhere," he reprimands me. "Master didn't listen."

"Shut up and take me back," I growl at him.

"No, wait just one minute," Granger protests. "What's wrong with you?"

"Naree, _now!_"

My direct order forces him to wrap his small hand around my wrist, and a moment later, I'm in my bedroom at the Manor. With a snap of his fingers, Naree levitates me and places me on my bed.

"Master, please, let Naree take care of you," he murmurs.

"I just need to sleep it off," I say.

Natural sleep is the best way to recover from overexertion, as long as it hasn't gone too far.

"But one night of sleep cannot be enough for Master to recover, especially if Master expects to see the Dark Lord again tomorrow night," Naree protests.

I close my eyes.

"Do what you can, then."

* * *

The room feels brighter than I'm used to. But this is, without a doubt, my room. I wave my hand, and the curtains fly shut.

Then I sit up. I _do_ feel much better. I wonder what Naree did.

I turn my head to the left and freeze in surprise—Aunt Bella is sitting in a chair, facing the bed, asleep. It looks like she fell asleep watching over me.

Then, as though she can sense that I'm awake, she stirs.

"Ah, Draco," she says. "How do you feel?"

"Great. What are you doing here?"

"That cursed elf of yours wouldn't leave me alone until I came."

"I didn't tell him to—"

"Yes, yes, I know. He told me that you returned much weaker than you'd ever been after a session," Aunt Bella says. "What is the Dark Lord trying to teach you?"

I shake my head. "You know I can't tell you that."

She frowns. "It can't be anything simple. I know your skills very well—I don't see what could possibly exhaust them to this extent. Now… where is your wand?"

"I don't have it. He's keeping it."

She immediately looks worried. "You don't think he's planning to kill you, is he?"

I shake my head.

"You can die of overexertion," she says.

"Yes, I know. But I think I'd be dead already, if that were his intention."

"Perhaps."

She doesn't sound convinced. I wonder if I should be worried that she thinks Voldemort is trying to kill me. But it's dangerous to be around Voldemort, whether or not he's aiming to take my head off.

"Well, then," she says, getting to her feet, "I hope you earn your wand back soon."

"Thanks, Aunt Bella."

She starts for the door but pauses halfway there to turn around. "Oh, and just a warning—"

Before she can finish, the door bursts open.

"Draco!" a familiar voice crows. "I heard that you were hurt!"

Astoria Greengrass. Just what I bloody needed.

"Well, there you go," Aunt Bella says. "Never mind."

I almost laugh. I'd thought that her warning was about something much more serious, life-threatening. She was going to warn me about _Astoria_?

"Don't you know how to knock?" Aunt Bella says, her words directed at Astoria. "Your parents claimed that you were a lady."

Astoria flushes. "I'm sorry, Aunt Bella."

"Whoever said that _you_ could call me 'Aunt Bella'? If I have my way, those two words will never come out of your mouth in the same breath again."

"I—I'm sorry."

Aunt Bella huffs but doesn't reply, instead heading for the exit. When she's behind Astoria, she looks back over my shoulder and winks at me.

My god, if only Potter and the Weasel—or _any_ of the Order, for that matter—could see her now. I can imagine the way their eyes would bug out at such a playful gesture from the _evil_ Bellatrix Lestrange. As the Dark Lord said, there's still a woman somewhere in that monster of an aunt of mine.

Then Astoria sits down on the edge of my bed, and annoyance immediately rises in my chest.

"Draco, you look so pale."

"I'm always pale," I say uninterestedly.

"Paler than usual, I mean. Are you all right?" she asks.

"I've been better."

"I want to help you."

"Thanks for the thought, but you can't. What are you doing here, Astoria?"

"Why, your parents invited me to stay over for a few days—surely they told you," she says. "My parents were absolutely delighted to hear about it."

"A few days?" I repeat.

"Yes, so that we can get accustomed to each other," she says matter-of-factly.

"I'm not going to marry you."

She looks confused for a moment. "But… but you are," she says. "Your father said—"

"I don't give a damn about what _my father_ said."

Astoria is clearly shocked. "Draco, how can you say that? We as children must respect our parents' wishes," she says softly.

"And deny our own? Fuck that, I'm not doing it."

"You don't… like me. Is that it?"

Is she really that thick? When in the many years that we've known each other have I ever shown the slightest bit of interest in her? For fuck's sake.

"I don't care for you," I say bluntly. "I never have. I thought I made that clear a long time ago."

"But you can _learn_ to care for me," she says. "We'll be spending the rest of our lives together."

"No, we won't. You can't make me marry you."

"I won't have to. Your father will make you."

"Not if I can help it."

"Do you really hate me that much?"

She actually sounds a little hurt.

"I don't hate you," I decide. "But that doesn't mean I'll agree to marrying you."

"Why won't you marry me, then, if you don't hate me?"

"I don't want to do it. I don't need to have a reason why."

"Of course you do," she insists. "You must have a reason."

Then a workable solution to my current dilemma regarding retrieval of the Peverell dagger occurs to me. "Will you lend me your wand?" I ask.

"For what?" she asks, surprised by the sudden topic change.

"I have to do something. It'll take just a few minutes," I say.

"All right," she says, producing her wand from a pocket of her coat and handing it over.

There's no doubt about it. She _is_ thick as a cow.

I point her wand at her as soon as it's in my hand and Silence her. As she starts to panic, I place her under the Full Body Bind Curse, and she falls to the floor. I point my wand at the door to seal it shut.

I should only need a few minutes.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm starting to get frustrated with later chapters. There are a bunch of things I'm trying to work in, and they're refusing to fit with the plot in an order that makes sense to me. And the amount of material that I'm writing seems to be weighted heavily toward Draco's side but I wanted to keep it relatively even. Agh.

Anyway, I'm done venting. Hope you liked the chapter!


	50. Chapter 50 H

**Author's Note:** Wow, the big fifty! But I still think this story is shorter than _Vengeance_, in word count. It's catching up, though! One more chapter might do it. Ooh by the way, this marks 25 chapters each for Draco and Hermione, yay!

I have a can of Pringles sitting on the table next to my laptop, and I cannot stop eating. This is awful. Remind me never to buy Pringles again because they are addicting. And since I'm already talking about random stuff, I'll recommend another song: "California King Bed" by Rihanna—she almost sounds like the old her in this song, and I love it! I have not been a fan of her newer music, but I actually liked this song. Just heard it today. If you haven't heard it already, look it up!

**Chapter 50**

I squat down next to the large leafy plant and push two of the giant blades out of my way. Aha, there it is—a small, white root protruding from the soil. I reach down with a gloved hand and gently tug it free. A few inches away, another root shows itself, and I collect that one as well.

Two is enough for one potion—I'm making a Numbing Draught for Ginny, so that when Madam Pomfrey's protective spell wears off, we can still numb her insides. It'll take some time for less vital organs to regain their full functions, and the process is still supposed to be very painful.

I glance at the cottage. I'm all alone in the garden right now. What better time to summon Naree and ask about Draco?

I call out for the house elf, and he appears promptly.

"Naree, is Draco all right?" I ask him.

"Master is recovering."

"From what?"

Naree frowns. "Miss Granger does not already know? If Master did not tell, perhaps Naree is not supposed to tell."

"He didn't have time to tell me himself, that's all. Please, tell me what happened to him."

"Naree does not know," the elf says with a sorrowful expression. "Master usually comes home tired but otherwise very healthy. Last night Master was dangerously weak from overexertion."

"Overexertion?" I repeat.

It's something I've read about, but as I've only dabbled in wandless magic, I never gave it much thought.

Naree misinterprets my echo of the word as a query about what overexertion is and gives me a brief explanation.

"Wizards have limited amounts of power that they can call upon to use wandless magic. It increases with practice. Overexertion is what happens when they use more magic than is available to them," he says. "Elves do not have such limitations."

"Yes, thank you," I say. "Where did you say he was coming home from?"

"A meeting with the Dark Lord."

I bite my lip.

"Is there something wrong, Miss Granger?" Naree asks uneasily.

I shake my head. "No, nothing."

Then the back door opens, and Blaise steps outside. "How long can it take to find some roots?" Upon spotting the house elf, he adds, "Oh Naree, nice to see you again."

"Likewise, Master Blaise."

"Naree, I was wondering if you could bring me a reference book on Dark Magic sometime later today," I say. "One from the Manor library, please?"

"Oh, Naree does not like the sound of that."

"You brought _Hogwarts, A History_ last time, didn't you?" I point out. "I'm sure they won't notice if only one book is missing."

"All right, Naree will return with a book for Miss Granger."

"Thank you."

Naree smiles brightly and disappears.

"What were you asking him about?" Blaise says.

"What makes you think I was asking him anything?"

I walk past him, through the small house, and into the kitchen. He follows me inside and shuts the door.

"Muffliato," he murmurs.

"What did you do that for?" I ask, setting the roots down on a clean cutting board.

"Privacy," he replies. "You can tell me what's on your mind, you know. I could help you."

"There's nothing on my mind," I say.

The roots must be crushed with the flat side of a blade… I open a few drawers before finding a knife.

"You're a rotten liar, you know that?" Blaise says conversationally.

I bring the flat side of the blade down hard on the first root, but when I give it a squeeze, it seems to have hardened more than before.

I frown. "I'm not lying," I say absentmindedly, giving the root another sound whack. "There's nothing—"

"It's Draco, isn't it?"

I swing the blade down several times, as hard as I can, but the root only seems to get harder.

"What does _he_ have to do with anything?"

"Come on, Hermione," Blaise says. "You can't still be in denial. You _know_."

I begin to beat the obstinate root steadily—I will not be outdone by a white, stumpy plant organ.

"And what is it," I ask, "that you're so sure I should know?"

"Hermione, don't treat me like a fool," he says.

I try to increase the force of my strikes even more, but I only have so much strength. Whenever we used the roots of Shrivelfigs at Hogwarts, they were already crushed into powder for us. Now, I'm beginning to understand why. I've got a pretty good arm on me, but I can't do a thing to this root.

Blaise sighs. "Let me help you."

How does he expect to help me with Draco?

"I'm fine," I say.

"I was talking about the roots," he says.

_Oh_. I stop my fruitless banging and pass him the knife, pushing the cutting board toward him. He smashes downward once, hard, and a crack forms.

"How…?" I mutter.

He grins at me and then clears his throat. When he speaks, it's in a very deep, oafish tone. "I am big strong man. Big man crush things."

I laugh at him—it's priceless, seeing the well-bred, refined Blaise speaking like a caveman.

"Ah, there it is," he says in his normal tone.

"There what is?"

"Your smile. You've been so serious all morning."

I roll my eyes. "Just because I'm being serious, you think something's wrong with me?"

"Oh, no. There's a lot more to it than that. Years of practice, for example," he says, bringing his arm down again to make another crack in the root.

I sigh and lean back against the counter behind me, watching as he crushes the roots. After a few more cracks form, the first root begins to crumble, and he works on the other one. Eventually, we have two small lumps of fine white powder.

"Now what?" Blaise asks.

"You were in Potions with me, Blaise. You should know."

"That was four years ago, Hermione. Do you really expect me to remember?"

"Yes, I do."

He laughs. "If I screw up this potion, it's _your_ friend who's gonna take the hit. Don't you think you ought to pay more attention?"

I smile. "All right, I'll take over, but only so you don't embarrass yourself."

"How kind of you," he says, backing out of the way.

I point my wand at the cauldron, which is filled to halfway with water and a variety of other herbs that we'd already placed inside, and murmur, "Incendio."

A fire lights up below the cauldron, and I begin to pour the powder in slowly, stirring carefully as I do so.

Then I remember something.

"Blaise…"

"What?"

"I asked you to figure out the identity of the Death Eater who saved me, but you never got back to me," I say.

When he doesn't reply, I glance over to see that he's scrutinizing me.

Our eyes meet, and he smiles ruefully. "So, you know who it is already."

I turn my attention back to the potion. "How long have you known? How long have you kept it a secret from me?" I ask. Why would he do that? Why would he deliberately withhold information from me?

"I knew as soon as I saw him at Godric's Hollow."

I stop stirring the potion and turn towards him. "You knew _that_ long ago, and you didn't say a word."

"Are you angry?"

"A little, yes. You said I would know as soon as you did, Blaise."

"It wasn't my secret to tell. Draco's still my best mate."

"But you told me—"

"Yes, yes, I know, and I'm sorry. But honestly, what would you have done if I _had_ told you?"

"That's not the issue right now," I say. "You told me that you'd find out who it was for me, and I trusted you to tell me as soon as you knew. And now you tell me that you've been keeping the truth from me since… well, since pretty much the start."

Then there's a loud hiss from behind me, and I turn in time to see a puff of green smoke rising from the potion. I glance inside the cauldron and see that the mixture has turned extremely viscous. A few bubbles sluggishly rise to the surface.

I curse. "This one's ruined."

I put out the fire below the cauldron and back up to lean against the opposite counter.

"I'm sorry, all right? But you live according to a set of principles, don't you? I do, too. If he wanted you to know that it was him, he would have told you himself. And he'd kept his interest secret from you for years before we left Hogwarts," Blaise says.

"_Years?_"

_Before_ leaving Hogwarts?

Blaise sighs. "Fuck. He didn't tell you that, did he?"

"Years?" I repeat again. "_Years_, Blaise? When did he…"

"I don't know, Hermione. I didn't notice until really late in our fifth year, but I suspect it had been going on for a while, already," he says. Then he sighs again. "Draco's going to kill me."

"Fifth year… oh my god."

I'd had absolutely no idea. He'd been just as contemptuous as ever—even more so, if anything, with his new status as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad. If Blaise is telling me the truth, then Draco was very skilled at masking his feelings. I really never would have guessed.

"How did you find out?" I ask.

He smiles at me as though I'm a little child. "How long have we known each other, and how well do I know you?"

"Oh… right."

"Draco and I grew up together. We were like brothers."

"I guess I forgive you for keeping the Forbidden Forest thing a secret, then."

"Good. I'd be really depressed if you decided to sulk all day."

I flash a smile at him. "You're not nearly important enough to ruin my day."

He chuckles. "Glad to hear that."

"I should get some more of those roots," I say, walking past Blaise and toward the door.

His hand shoots out and snatches mine as I pass, and I spin to face him.

"What?"

He grins. "I don't know. It just happened."

"What do you mean?"

"Obviously, I wanted to hold your hand."

"Ron's not here, and he can't hear you," I say.

"Oh, I'm hurt. Am I only allowed to display my affection when Weasley's around to be jealous?"

I laugh. "Stop messing around, Blaise. We have a potion to make."

Then his teasing expression turns decidedly serious, and I find myself wanting to step away from the intensity that suddenly emanates from his normally playful brown eyes.

"What makes you so sure that I'm messing around, Hermione?" he asks.

I blink a few times, as though if I blink enough, the happy-go-lucky Blaise will come right back. This extremely somber expression has no place on his face, and I really want it to go away.

"Blaise… are you all right?"

Then a warm smile wipes away that frighteningly solemn attitude. "Yeah, just joking," he says lightly.

He moves to the door and holds it open for me.

"Honestly, Hermione. You take things too seriously."

I've never been terribly gifted as far as intuition goes, relying more on common sense and rationality to get me through anything that's thrown my way.

But right now, my intuition is telling me that this time, he wasn't joking.

* * *

**Author's Note:** What are your thoughts? I'm curious. And if you're worried about what Draco's about to do, I promise I won't interrupt with another Hermione chapter—we'll see him again soon (:

By the way, in case you're wondering about the fate of that can of Pringles… it's gone now.


	51. Chapter 51 D

**Author's Note:** I'm pretty sure there was something I meant to say up here, but I forgot what it was. Oh well! Maybe I'll think of it by the time I'm finished, and I'll stick it at the bottom… Enjoy the chapter, anyway!

**Chapter 51**

I Apparate into Rowle's backyard and see a single rosebush sitting in the middle of his lawn. Could he _be_ more obtuse? That's about as obvious as placing a sign that says, _Look here, I've hidden something!_ Bloody hell, Rowle.

I observe my surroundings carefully and hold up Astoria's wand.

_Homenum Revelio._

No one's here, apart from Rowle, who appears to be inside the house.

I Vanish the blasted plant and conjure a shovel to dig for the dagger—I know from my search at Potter's home in Godric's Hollow that a Summoning Charm won't do me any good. It takes less than a minute for me to find the dagger, and I tuck it safely into an inner pocket of my robes.

Just as I'm straightening, Rowle exits through the backdoor of his house.

"Malfoy," he says. "I see you've got what you wanted. Will you free me, now?"

I point my borrowed wand at him. "Sorry, mate. I lied. Imperio."

His eyes widen in shock as the Imperius Curse settles over him with renewed force.

"I need you to get me all the information that you can about patrols at Hogwarts—their routes, shift changes, personnel. I want the information on parchment by tomorrow night. If I don't come, I will send a house-elf to retrieve what you've gathered. Don't give it to him unless he says that Karkaroff would have done a bang-up job as a Beater. Nod if you understand."

He nods once.

"Aside from that, you are permitted to act normal, as long as you never do anything that might incriminate me. And again, if you are ever caught or suspected, deny everything. If the Dark Lord decides to question you personally, kill yourself."

He nods fearfully. "Will you ever let me go?" he asks.

I wonder if I'm really that frightening. This man has got to be at least twice my age.

"I won't lie to you. It's not likely. Remember, you have to have the information by tomorrow night, or you'll have my wrath to contend to."

Death Eaters who fail are publicly punished by various methods of torture. I've had a few turns torturing my 'comrades', and judging from the way Rowle stiffens at the mention of my wrath, he's seen me at work.

Then I remember there's the last sticky bit about modifying his memory. First, I change his memory so that he remembers seeing the dagger and wanting to own it because it was such a priceless piece. Then I cast a few protective charms over his memories. If Voldemort really wants to enter his head, there's no way that these little tricks will stop him. But they can slow him down and buy some time—maybe enough for Rowle to kill himself before Voldemort can discover the connection to me.

"So, what are you going to do today?" I ask.

"Get information about Hogwarts," he replies. "If you don't come, the house elf will come, and I can't give him anything until he says that Karkaroff could be a Beater."

"Perfect. I'll leave you to it, then," I say.

Then I Apparate to my next destination: the living room of my cottage. Potter's sitting alone on the couch, seemingly deep in thought, when I arrive.

"Malfoy," he says, looking up in surprise.

"Yeah. Special delivery for you. Said I'd have it for you within the week."

I reach into the inner pocket of my robes and extract the dagger.

"You probably… shouldn't be just holding it like that…" Potter says.

"Well, I haven't dropped dead just yet," I say, setting the item down on the coffee table. "Where are the others?"

"Ron's watching over Ginny. Hermione and Blaise are in the kitchen, working on a potion for her."

"And what are you doing out here, all alone? Contemplating how you're going to die to save the world?"

"Yeah, mockery's always appreciated."

I shake my head. "Sorry."

He looks surprised by my apology. Then he speaks. "I know you've never had a high opinion of me, and I've never exactly respected you either… but I'm not thick, despite what you might think."

"What are you getting at?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

"I never _really_ believed that you decided to change sides just to stop the killing—honestly, I don't think you would risk your neck for that."

"Ah Potter, you think you know me so well, don't you?"

"It was for Hermione, wasn't it?" he says.

I give him a practiced look of mild surprise. "You're joking."

He shakes his head. "I know I might be wrong, but…"

"_Might_ be? You most certainly are wrong."

"You rescued her from the Death Eater camp," Potter says. "And you asked for her to be your contact—and she still doesn't even know that fact. Like I said, Malfoy, I'm not thick."

I hate admitting to feelings. Absolutely detest it, almost as much as I can't stand talking to Ron Weasley. But what other explanation is there? I can't think of anything that would lead him to a different conclusion than the one he's reached.

"Fine," I say. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing," he says.

I hide my surprise.

"I was worried at first that you had plans to hurt her—it was the only thing I could come up with at the time. But now, I don't think I have to worry anymore," he adds.

"You're that sure of your judgment?"

"I noticed that you look at her whenever she's not looking your way," he says.

"Why do you even care?"

"Because now that we're on the same side, I want to put aside our differences. I did it with Blaise, so I'm sure I can do it with you, too."

I scoff. "The issues between you and Blaise are hardly comparable to the ones between us."

"Nevertheless, I'm going to try. Dumbledore would have wanted me to."

I resist the urge to flinch at the mention of our former Headmaster's name. "Still Dumbledore's good boy, are you?"

Potter nods. "Always."

"Of course," I say, trying to keep the annoyance in my voice to an absolute minimum.

His heroic antics and his ideals of righteousness and loyalty to the cause don't sit well with me. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One, the one who's going to save our world from Voldemort. I wonder how they expect him to win. I've seen up close what Voldemort can do. How is a boy my age supposed to win against the Dark Lord?

If Potter is our only hope, I think it's pretty safe to say we're screwed.

Obviously, such things shouldn't be said aloud. Especially not in the presence of said chosen one.

"I should go back to the Manor," I say.

"You came here to see Hermione though, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, and this time it's not a lie. All right, not a _complete_ lie. I'd hoped to get a glimpse of her, but that wasn't why I came. "I brought you the dagger. I trust you know how to get rid of it."

Then the door to my bedroom opens, and Weasley steps out. I almost blast him with a Hurling Hex before realizing that he's supposed to be in there with his sister weasel.

"Malfoy, don't you go anywhere," he says in what I'm sure is supposed to be a menacing voice. "I heard everything."

I raise an eyebrow. "And?"

"How can you let Harry think that you like Hermione? And how—Harry, how can you even think that? This is _Malfoy_, for fuck's sake!" he hisses.

To my surprise, Potter actually looks genuinely angry with his friend. Instead of speaking up to defend myself, I decide to let Potter handle it.

"Ron, I know perfectly well who I'm talking to, all right?"

"How can you say that you're going to do _nothing_ about it, then?" Weasley demands, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red.

"And what am I _supposed_ to do?" Potter says. "I don't suppose you want me to tell Hermione."

Should I tell them that she already knows? Hmm… nah.

Unable to answer Potter's question, Weasley turns on me. "Malfoy, you have no right—"

"No right?" I interrupt him. "Who are you to say that? Her brother, boyfriend, husband?"

"Harry, he's a Death Eater. He can't—"

"Can't what?" I ask.

"Ron, stop," Potter says. "As long as Hermione isn't interested in him, it doesn't matter what's going on in his head, does it?"

"Why are you so worried, Weasley?" I ask. "It's not like I'm going to eat her alive."

His face is positively poisonous, but he disappears back into my bedroom to accompany his little sister.

"There aren't enough rooms in this house," Potter comments.

"I didn't intend for this place to fit anyone other than myself. And if you don't like it here, I can still turn you out if I really want to."

"Yes, I know. I guess I never thanked you for letting us stay," he says. "So… thanks."

"I really should go now. Naree will bring you some more supplies in the evening."

"Three years ago, if someone told me that I'd be staying at your place, getting supplies from your house elf, I think I'd have laughed my arse off and then said I'd die first," Potter says, chuckling.

He seems to think it'll be so easy to forget everything that's ever happened between us. For Hermione's sake, I will risk my neck for him, support him, and fight for him till the bitter end, but that doesn't mean I ever want to be _friends_ with him.

"Well it's a good thing you've grown up since then. Bye, Potter."

With that, I Apparate back to my room at the Manor.

When I see Astoria lying in the same place where I'd left her, I let out a sigh of relief. First, I modify her memory so that she won't remember ever letting me borrow her wand. Then I undo the Full Body Bind Curse and Silencing Charm placed on her and carefully tuck her wand back into her robes, waiting for her to recover.

She wakes in a moment and looks around, disoriented.

"Why am I on the ground?" she says.

"You tripped."

"Oh… so I did," she says, frowning.

I guess my mother was right—comparing her to livestock is indeed wrong. She's even dumber than a farm animal.

Then she seems to remember that we were discussing the possibility—or, in my opinion, the _im_possibility—of our marriage.

"You'll fall in love with me, Draco," she says. "You'll see."

"That's not likely," I scoff. "Now get out of my room."

She glowers at me.

"Go on."

Astoria gets to her feet and starts to leave the room. She pauses at the exit and glances back at me as though she's hoping that I'll change my mind. I shake my head minutely, and she groans loudly before leaving.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yes, I know it might seem like Draco and Hermione haven't been together in a long time. But it really hasn't been that long. In story time, they only just saw each other last night.

Aha, I _do_ remember what I was going to say. I was going to tell you guys that I have both of my finals back-to-back this Friday (ewwww), so I probably will not get back to posting until after that. I feel okay about math, but I'm pretty much terrified for stats, so I'll be focusing on that. I'll update again this weekend though, I promise! :)

I put these numbers on my profile, but I decided to put them here too, just because I can:

H: 25 chapters; avg. 2591 words/ch; total words: 64,765; avg. 31 reviews/ch; total reviews: 779

D: 25 chapters; avg. 2314 words/ch; total words: 57,855; avg. 34 reviews/ch; total reviews: 849

OH and one last thing: _Turncoat_ has officially surpassed _Vengeance_ in word count!


	52. Chapter 52 H

**Author's Note:** FINALS ARE OVER! You have no idea how ecstatic I am right now. I'm not sure how well I did because both exams were pretty difficult, so it'll really depend on the curve. But I'm DONE! Which is good news for you guys too, because I won't have class for two weeks. This means more writing time, which translates into more updates! Yay (:

That said, hope you like the chapter!

Oh and by the way, there's a _Fight Club_ reference in this chapter! I was rather surprised that I could work in a quote from it, haha. (Yes I know, it's completely not in the same genre as _Harry Potter_, but it is one of my favorite books. The movie was fantastic, too. Brad Pitt…yum.)

**Chapter 52**

When I enter the living room, Harry looks up at me.

"Hermione," he says with a smile.

Blaise follows me out of the kitchen.

"Malfoy brought this," Harry says, gesturing toward an ornate dagger that's sitting on the coffee table. It looks like a priceless antique.

"Do you know if it's really a Horcrux?" I ask.

"I don't know," Harry says. "It doesn't seem all that remarkable. But I'll take it to Shacklebolt and McGonagall so they can check it, just to be safe."

"How you do destroy a Horcrux, anyway?" Blaise asks.

"They're almost impossible to destroy, but venom from a basilisk works—when we retake Hogwarts, we can go down to the Chamber of Secrets and get some," I say.

Harry nods. "Yes, like last time."

"Last time as in, _during_ the Battle of Hogwarts?" Blaise asks.

I nod.

"Well, if it worked last time, it shouldn't fail this time. We'll just have to keep the dagger in a safe place until then," Blaise says.

"Yeah," Harry agrees. "How's the potion coming along?"

"I screwed it up—sorry," Blaise says before I can speak up. "We'll start over, and I won't touch anything this time."

He exits to the backyard to get more roots, and I look over at Harry. It stings a little that Draco came back but didn't bother to even tell me that he'd dropped by.

"Did Malfoy look okay?" I ask.

Harry looks up at me, frowning. "Yeah, sure. Why, is there supposed to be something wrong with him?"

I just shake my head. Harry's usually pretty observant, but I don't know if he noticed that there was something wrong with Draco last night—in fact, I don't know if even Blaise noticed. I hope that Draco's better. If it's overexertion, then a good night's sleep should have fixed the problem.

"You and Ron are… way over, right?" Harry asks me.

Well, that was a sharp change in subject. I laugh. "Yes, we are. If you're interested in him, feel free."

He joins me in laughter. "I think Blaise is rubbing off on you," he says.

"Maybe he is," I say, smiling.

Harry glances at the door that leads to the backyard as he says, "Are you into him?"

"Who, Blaise?"

Harry nods.

"No," I say. "He's just a friend. I'm as interested in him as I am in you."

"Gee thanks, Hermione."

I walk over and lean down to give him a hug. "Aw, Harry, you know you're my favorite friend."

"I wasn't aware that you played favorites, Hermione," he says, smiling.

I let him go. "Oh, doesn't everyone?"

"I guess so. It's great to have you around—you keep me honest."

Then Blaise reenters the room and holds up two gnarly white clumps.

"Well, we should get to work on that potion," I say. "Bye, Harry."

I move into the kitchen and Blaise follows me inside, shutting the door behind him. He puts the roots down on the same cutting board as before, and I rummage through the drawers, collecting the same array of herbs that had been in the cauldron on our botched attempt at the potion. I Vanish the thick liquid and clean the cauldron with a quick Scouring Charm before adding the water and herbs.

Meanwhile, Blaise crushes the new roots with methodical, forceful strikes.

We work in silence, and while I usually feel comfortable in silence with Blaise, there's something different about the atmosphere in the room. I just can't shake the feeling that although he said he was joking before and laughed it off, it's actually really bothering him.

It slowly seems to become more and more obvious to me that something's wrong with him. I haven't looked at him once, but I feel like he's as uncomfortable as I am.

Then I hear him chuckling and glance to the side to see that he's looking at me with a very amused expression.

"Go on, don't let me interrupt you," he says.

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"You were clearly deep in thought. I didn't mean to interrupt you," he says.

I roll my eyes at him. "Shut up, Blaise."

He passes me the newly crushed powdered roots and hoists himself up to sit on the counter.

"Honestly, Hermione. What's on your mind? I'm very curious," he says.

I light the fire beneath the cauldron. "Nothing," I reply.

He just shakes his head, and I start to pour the powdered root in, very slowly.

"Blaise, I'm being honest with you. There's nothing on my mind. Why are you so curious?"

"Mm, no reason," he says, shrugging. "Don't screw up the potion again. I won't take the blame this time."

"No one told you to take the blame last time," I point out.

"Yeah, but it sort of _was_ my fault, for distracting you."

"Then stop distracting me."

"Can't do that."

"Why not?"

"I think I'd die of boredom."

I stir in some more of the powder. "Such a drama queen, you are," I say.

Blaise hops off the counter. "Yes, I know."

He walks around to stand behind me. He looks over my shoulder at the potion, leaning into me as he does so.

"Can't you just watch from the side?" I say.

I can practically _hear_ the grin in his reply, "Sorry, love. Can't do that either."

"Don't call me that, Blaise."

"What, love? Don't call you what?" he asks innocently.

I briefly let go of the stirring spoon to elbow him in the ribs. Then I quickly return to stirring the potion.

His hands graze my hips and then slide around to my front, and when his body presses against my back, I feel surrounded by him.

"Blaise… what are you doing?" I ask stiffly.

"Shh…" he says instead of answering me.

I start to step back to make him back away from me.

"Hey, hey, hey—don't stop stirring. We don't want to ruin another batch, do we?"

"Blaise, let go of me," I say calmly, continuing to stir carefully.

Blaise isn't a threat, and I know that. He's just teasing me. As inappropriate as it is sometimes, I've gotten used to his touchiness. But then again, he's never held me like this when it was just the two of us.

"I really like you, Hermione," he whispers in my ear.

There's suddenly a lump in my throat, and I don't know what to do about it. I don't know what to say, or how to react. He _must_ be joking.

"Did you know that?" he continues, still in a whisper. "You're different from any other girl I've known. I really, really like you."

"Did you tell this to all the girls you slept with, to get them into bed?" I blurt. "Were they all special? Were they all beautiful and unique snowflakes?"

"That hurts, Hermione."

"Sorry," I say, frowning.

I don't know what came over me—that was something so very _Ron_ to do. It was a low blow, and I feel extremely guilty for taking a swing at him.

Then his lips lightly caress my neck, and shivers run down my spine.

"Blaise, get off me," I say.

He backs away, and I feel relieved.

"I'm not joking this time, Hermione," he says from behind me. "I know you already know how Draco feels about you, and it's about time I came clean, too."

I extinguish the fire below the cauldron and pour three dewdrops, collected from a fire lily at dawn, into the mixture. The liquid sizzles and then turns salmon pink. Perfect.

"I just… thought you should know," he says.

I hear his footsteps as he moves toward the door.

"You don't have to give me an answer. As long as you know that I'm here for you, it's enough."

With that, he leaves the room.

I'm nearly overwhelmed by guilt. I feel awful for not responding in a way that would have made him feel better, but I honestly don't have those types of feelings toward him. And I'm a little bit dazed…

He always joked about liking me, or wanting me, but I'd never thought that he actually meant it when he said things like that—that was just playful, flirtatious Blaise, the same Blaise who'd always been around at Hogwarts.

But it'd be wrong to simply brush this time off as another joke. I haven't heard him speak so seriously before, not when it's just between the two of us. And I _certainly_ have never heard him discuss romantic feelings before.

I ladle some of the potion into a goblet and go into the living room.

Harry and Blaise, both sitting on the couch, stop speaking when I enter.

"The erm, potion's done," I say, trying to smooth over the awkward moment. "I'll take it to Ginny."

Neither says a word as I cross the living room and escape into the bedroom.

"Hello, Hermione," Ron says when I enter. "Is that the potion?"

I nod. "Has Ginny woken up yet?"

He shakes his head.

"Well, this is for her when she does," I say. "I'm pretty sure she'll be in pain soon."

Ron looks at his sister with such a sympathetic expression that I feel the need to comfort him. I pat his back gently.

"Do you want me to wait with her?"

"Yeah, I was actually getting a little hungry," he says, getting to his feet. "I'll go make something to eat. Do you want anything?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm fine. Thanks, though."

Ron leaves the room, and I sit down on my bed with a sigh.

Just a few weeks ago, I'd been convinced that no one could ever really want or love me, not in times like these, and it made me sad. But now, Draco and Blaise both… I had to have been dreaming. Why would they want me? All I've got is… bookish knowledge, a bit of common sense, and… uncontrollable hair.

I glance over at Ginny's unconscious figure and envy her relationship with Harry.

They had their conflicts about being together, simply because Harry was too heroic to allow Ginny to endanger herself by being near him, but at least they were sure of themselves. There was no doubt that they'd always have each other.

I feel like I'll never have that.

I love Blaise the way that I love Harry—as a close friend, a best friend, a confidant. And Draco… I know that he does care for me. He's made that clear. But on my side? Anything concerning him just turns into a mess of complicated emotions.

What if I _do_ only feel gratitude? I would never want to lead him on just because I wasn't sure of myself.

I can't classify him.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I doubt many of my readers have actually read _Fight Club_, so I'm not really expecting you guys to pick up the phrase (plus it was only like, three words...) But if you did catch it, let me know! I'd be super duper excited :D

I'll be updating again soon!


	53. Chapter 53 D

**Author's Note:** I love having all the time in the world to write and edit. It puts me in such a good mood… (:

This chapter is a bit short, but I hope you guys won't mind. Now that I have time, you won't have to wait long between updates (although to be honest, I've never kept you guys waiting longer than a few days, have I?)

**Chapter 53**

"Are you ready?"

I nod, bracing myself for the pain.

This is going to be a long night.

Hot coals pour over me, searing my flesh. I lock my legs and stand perfectly rigid as I burn alive. I clench my jaw to keep my mouth shut—any sounds out of my mouth, and he'll start calling me weak again.

Hundreds of meat hooks dig into my body and start ripping me apart in all directions, eliciting a long, unwilling cry of pain.

No, Draco. Block it. This isn't happening. Block it.

Thousands of miniature insects with needle-sharp legs are crawling all over me, sinking their sharp appendages into me as they walk across my body, eating away at me.

I'm trembling.

Swords hack at my body, and my mind conjures an image of myself—clawed, slashed, eaten, and beaten to a misshapen heap of meat and bones, with hardly any resemblance to the human I used to be.

I finally collapse, arms flailing wildly as though it'll help me block the pain. Then it all concentrates on one spot—my left wrist. It hurts so badly that I want to chop my arm off.

And then it's over.

"I am disappointed, Draco. You started off much better this time, but your weakness plagues you."

I'm gasping for air, breathing so hard that I can't even reply.

"On your feet."

I manage to control my breathing and get back up, fixing wary eyes on the Dark Lord.

"Do not resent me," he breathes. "This is for your benefit, not mine. Imagine the fearful looks in their eyes when they realize that you cannot be harmed by the Torture Curse. When you become the master of pain, they will follow you without protest."

I only nod.

"We will not be finished here, tonight, until you succeed," he says evenly. "I will work you to an inch from death if I must. So I suggest that you exercise some control over that mind of yours and rid it of weakness. Prepare yourself."

I swallow hard.

This is impossible! I'm still a little weak from spending so much effort trying to resist it last night. There's no fucking way I'll be able to do it tonight.

No—no, I have to believe that I can do it. If I'm to succeed, I have to have faith that I'll be able to achieve it. I'm a pessimist by nature, but this is no time to make things harder on myself.

"I'm ready."

* * *

"You are taking up so much of my time, Draco. This annoys me."

The inside of my mouth feels like sandpaper, and I cough once. I open my eyes and see Voldemort's bare feet on the stone floor, several feet away from me.

"Get up, boy," he says impatiently.

I lift my arms and brace my palms on the ground in an attempt to push myself up. My arms tremble with the effort, and after a brief struggle, I collapse again.

"Pathetic."

A force lifts me up to my feet, and I droop. All of the muscles in my body seem to have gone soft. I feel like every nerve ending is frayed, and even my bones are turning to jelly.

How long has it been? How many minutes? How many hours? A human being can only take so much torture.

"I can't," I mutter.

My voice is hoarse.

"Do not force me to conclude that you are useless," he hisses. "You know what fate befalls those who have outlived their usefulness."

"Kill me, then," I rasp, somehow sure that he won't _actually_ kill me. "I can't… can't do it."

Then, for what feels like the millionth time, I'm set on fire. I'm kept on my feet by Voldemort's spell, but my body is limp. I try to draw some strength to block the pain, but I honestly don't know why I bother. I clearly have no strength left in me.

A giant butcher knife starts cutting me up, dicing me into tiny little squares.

Numerous carnivorous worms slither on and beneath the surface of my skin, eating me away.

I'm beyond the point of fainting from the pain and exhaustion, but I've been kept agonizingly lucid by some curse that I haven't had the _privilege_ of learning yet, probably the same curse that was used on Wood.

Fuck.

The pain fades, leaving behind the same throbbing ache all over my body, the ache that intensifies after each experience of the spell.

"You aren't even trying anymore," Voldemort says. "Is your spirit so easily crushed? Pathetic weakling."

I don't even have the energy left to respond.

"You can stay here until you recover," he says, sneering. "_If_ you recover, that is. I will keep your wand."

With that, he disappears.

As the effects of his spells begin to fade off, I start coughing violently. Dizziness makes my head spin, and the force that was holding me on my feet dissipates.

The stone floor rushes up toward me.

* * *

The bed beneath me is extremely hard and uncomfortable. And I feel really sore. I must have fallen in an awkward position. I feel like I hardly even have the strength to lift my arms.

My eyes open, and I take in the familiar ceiling.

Oh, it's not a bed. It's the floor. Right.

I have to get out of here.

There's a nasty, metallic taste in my mouth. Looking to the side, I see a pool of blood right by my head. I spit out whatever blood is left in my mouth.

This simply _cannot_ be in my head. That lying bastard.

I try to sit up, but even that is too much. I guess the pain and the blood could be due to overexertion.

Have I just gone and gotten myself killed?

Overexertion is a very, very slow way to die. I've been taught all about it. Eventually you have no energy left to do _anything_. Your body wastes away, bit by bit.

I try to speak, but all that comes out is a strange rasping noise.

If I just had some water…

I try again and manage to get out Naree's name.

He appears a moment later, and his eyes widen as he takes in my state.

"Master! Master, what's happened?"

"Get me home," I whisper. My voice is all but gone.

"Right away, sir."

He grasps my forearm, and with a crack, we arrive at our destination.

It's dark, and a jet of red light flies at us. Naree blocks it, and the lights turn on.

"Oh my god—Draco!"

Fuck… that's Granger.

"I meant the Manor," I whisper to Naree.

"I am sorry, Master—right away!" the elf cries.

He grabs onto my arm again, and a moment later, I'm in my bedroom at the Manor.

"Miss Granger!" Naree squeaks. "You shouldn't be here!"

A sudden alertness grips me as I realize that Hermione Granger has just stepped into the Malfoy Manor. But she came with me, technically—she won't have been detected by the wards.

"Get—out—" I rasp at her.

I'm levitated onto the bed, and I hear Naree whispering for Granger to leave.

"He's not in his right mind," she says. "Go on, Naree. Get back to your work. I'll take care of him."

"Out—_now—_"

Why doesn't she see the gravity of the situation? If Aunt Bella chose to walk in and check on me right now…

"He's talking to you, Naree," Granger says. "You should probably go. Warn me if anyone's coming."

I hear a crack that signals Naree's departure. Fucking gullible elf. I'll have to rethink letting him take Granger's orders.

"Are you trying—to get us—both killed?"

"Don't be stubborn," she says.

She gets the covers out from beneath me and pulls them over me.

Naree returns with a glass of water for me, and I thank Merlin that he's so observant. Granger insists on helping me with it, and Naree leaves again.

After drinking, my throat feels much better, and my voice recovers enough so that I can speak again.

"Don't be stupid," I hiss at her. "Get out of here."

"If I leave, I'm taking you with me," she says firmly.

"Fine. Take me. You can't stay here."

She frowns at me.

"What are you waiting for?"

She grips my arm, and in a moment, we're back at my cottage. She places me in my bed, and as she tucks me in, I can smell her scent on the pillows—it's clear that she was just sleeping here.

Drowsiness seems to be overcoming me very quickly. Too quickly for death. I won't be dead for a while, if it's overexertion that I'm to die of.

"Take me outside," I mutter.

Her brow furrows. "No."

I want to tell her that I'll sleep on the couch, but I'm already so sleepy that I don't know if the words actually come out of my mouth. She's speaking, but her words blend together into an incomprehensible stream of the soothing sound that is her voice. Combined with that wonderful scent surrounding me…

If this is my last moment alive, I'll die a happy man.


	54. Chapter 54 H

**Author's Note:** Hmm. I really don't have anything to say up here, but I _really_ don't want my title to get shifted to the left by that stupid "share" bar on the right. Read and review, I guess! Haha.

**Chapter 54**

A loud crack wakes me from my sleep, and I immediately sit up, snatch my wand from the bedside table, and shoot a Stunning Spell towards the source of the noise.

It gets blocked. Panicking, I turn the lights on with a flick of my wand and see Naree on the ground, next to an obviously incapacitated Draco.

I've never seen anyone so pale in my life.

"Oh my god—Draco!" I exclaim, hopping out of bed.

He whispers something to Naree that I don't catch, and I move closer, sensing that Draco must want to leave—he made Naree take him away last night when I pointed out his weakness.

"I am sorry, Master!" Naree squeaks. "Right away!"

As he grabs onto Draco's arm, I get a hold of his shoulder, and when he Disapparates, I get pulled in as well.

We appear in another bedroom a moment later, and I look around. It's _huge_, but sparsely furnished. A very eye-catching crystal fixture serves as a light source—small white lights dance around the crystals, giving off a consistent, dim glow.

"Miss Granger!" Naree says, surprised. "You aren't supposed to be here!"

My attention falls on Draco, and I levitate him onto the bed.

"Get… out…" he says.

I'm alarmed by how hoarse his voice is—it's almost unrecognizable.

I turn to the small elf. "He's not in his right mind. Go on, Naree. Get back to your work. I'll take care of him," I say.

The house elf looks at me suspiciously.

"Out. _Now_," Draco says.

"He's talking to you, Naree," I say. "You should probably go. Warn me if anyone's coming."

Naree seems to believe me, so he Disapparates.

"Are you _trying_… to get us… both killed?"

I look at him, and the sight of his pale face makes my chest twist painfully.

"Don't be stubborn," I say, flicking my wand to pull the covers out from under him.

I reach over to pull the covers over him. Then Naree reappears with a glass of water. I take the glass from him and thank him. He only bows respectfully and Disapparates again.

"Can you sit up?" I ask Draco.

He doesn't seem to hear me, so I pull him up into a sitting position. It's much harder than it looks, because he really seems to have no strength at all. I shift to sit on the bed behind him so that he can lean on me, and then I hold the glass up to his lips.

After he's finished drinking, I put the glass down on his nightstand and notice the thick volume that's sitting there. _Hogwarts, A History_. Looks like Naree wasn't lying.

"Don't be stupid. Get out of here," he says.

Oh, at least his voice sounds much better.

"If I leave, I'm taking you with me," I reply.

"Fine. Take me. You can't stay here."

I frown. We're at the Manor—how did that not occur to me before? Surely… surely, the wards wouldn't accept me, and Death Eaters should be coming to grab me, right?

"What are you waiting for?" Draco says.

Then I realize that I was traveling with a master of the house, technically. He must be allowed to bring people in and out of the wards undetected.

I get a hold of his arm and Apparate back to Draco's bedroom at the cottage. I put him in bed and cover him up. There has to be something I can do for him. Naree said it was overexertion that he suffered from when he returned from meeting with Voldemort, so the best way for him to recover is to have natural sleep.

I guess I could get him some Rejuvenating Potion, but I'm pretty sure that it should only be used if he's dying—otherwise, I've read that there could be extremely painful and lingering side effects. I've never had much experience with overexertion, so I honestly don't know what to do.

"Take me outside," he says.

"No," I say immediately.

"Couch," he murmurs.

"Draco, just sleep. You look awful. If you're not any better in the morning, I'll give you some Rejuvenating Potion," I decide aloud.

"Couch…" he repeats.

"No, Draco," I say, shaking my head. "You're staying right here."

I put a hand on his cheek. His skin is cool to the touch.

"Sleep," I say.

He looks at me, but I feel like he isn't really seeing my face. Then his eyes close, and he appears to be unconscious.

I get to my feet, wondering what time it is. Then I decide to go to the kitchen to check if he has any Rejuvenating Potion prepared. The clock in the living room informs me that it's about three in the morning. Why on earth would Voldemort be meeting with Draco at such odd hours?

I silently open the door to the kitchen and stop, surprised.

"Ron," I say.

He jumps. "Bloody hell, Hermione. You scared me."

"What are you doing in here? It's the middle of the night."

"I couldn't sleep, so I decided to practice my potions work a little," he says, placing a lid over the cauldron that he's working on.

"And you can't do that during the day?" I ask.

"I already told you, I couldn't sleep."

"Well, what are you making?" I ask him, stepping closer.

He doesn't remove the lid, and I frown.

"So secretive," I say.

"I'm bad at it," he says, his cheeks reddening a bit.

I smile. "As if I didn't already know that."

I open a cupboard that I know is full of potions and look for a Rejuvenating Potion. It's sitting on the lowest shelf, in a small, neatly labeled glass bottle.

"Hermione…"

I glance over at Ron and see a familiar expression on his face. It's the same one he had on his face when he said that he still loved me. Oh, god.

"Ron, we're over," I say gently. "We've _been_ over. Please just accept that."

He watches me sullenly, and I exit the room quickly. I cross the living room and reenter the bedroom, where I sit on the side of Draco's bed. I place the potion on the nightstand and then reach out to touch his cheek. I brush a few stray strands of hair out of his face.

Somehow, he still looks so tense, even in sleep. There's a pang in my chest. I've never truly thought about his situation before. Is he really so stressed, so alert in his waking hours, that it carries over into his dreams?

I gently rub at the small crease between his eyebrows, trying to even it out. Then I cup his cheek with my hand, marveling at how perfectly unblemished his skin is. It's so smooth… if this isn't natural, then he probably takes better care of it than most girls do. He turns his face slightly toward my hand, and a fluttering sensation starts up in my stomach.

I have a sudden urge to steal a kiss. His lips have never looked so enticing to me.

Didn't I tell myself not to let this go too fast? I don't want to get too ahead of myself. This is too fast for me. But it feels like I've just hopped onto a train that's steadily increasing in speed—I'm terrified of crashing or running out of track, but I won't even consider getting off.

This revelation scares me. I've really, _really_ fallen for him, haven't I?

"Draco?" I whisper.

There's no response, so I utter his name again, a little louder this time. When he still doesn't respond, I'm convinced that he's asleep. I slowly lean forward and press my lips to his. Tingles course through me, but I crave the sensation of his lips moving with mine, and I wish he would kiss me back.

Then he makes a soft, humming noise low in his throat, and I quickly back away.

He still seems to be asleep. I can't pull my hand away from his face—it's as though if I let go of him, he'll vanish. I run my thumb across his eyebrow, much in the same way that he did the night that I pretended to be asleep.

A hand rests on my shoulder, and I practically jump out of my skin, ripping my hand away from his face.

"What's he doing here?" Ron asks.

I turn to look at him. "It _is_ his house. He has every right to be here."

Ron looks at me for a long moment, and I wonder what he'll say. But then he turns around and exits the room, closing the door behind him. I stare at the door for a while, surprised by how calm he was. I'd expected an outburst from him.

Maybe he finally is accepting that we're over.

I stifle a yawn and rub my eyes. I'm so sleepy…

I consider slipping under the covers beside Draco, but the memory of what happened the last time we shared a bed stops me. Cheeks flushing, I conjure myself a chair and sit down facing the bed. I lean forward and fold my arms on the bed, resting my head on them and looking at his still face.

Then I reach under the covers and pull out his hand, slipping my fingers between his. I wonder what he'll think when he wakes and sees that I'm holding his hand…

I kiss the back of his pale hand. How many times has this hand saved me from death, from capture? How many times has it defied all for me?

I feel like I've stumbled on the truth—that Draco turned to our side solely because of me. Why else would he have chosen that particular moment to turn? It had been almost right after he saved me at the Forbidden Forest, so he knew that I was still alive. And what were the odds that Shacklebolt and McGonagall had decided on me, a student, to be his contact? He _must_ have chosen me.

The more I find out about him, the more I seem to fall for him.

I get another good, long look at his face before putting my head back down to go to sleep.

* * *

**Author's Note:** While you're waiting between updates, I have a suggestion for you. I usually hate reading work-in-progress stories, simply because I'm too impatient to wait for updates. And more often than not, people take for_ever_ to get their chapters written and posted.

That said, I've actually discovered three stories that are sort of just beginning, all of which I genuinely enjoy reading, and I wanted to share them with you. All three are pretty well-written, with only minor errors (I wouldn't recommend them otherwise, to be quite honest) so if you're a spelling/grammar freak like me, you won't have too much to worry about. The term, "diamond in the rough" comes to mind.

I was going to try to summarize them, but since I have no idea where the authors are actually planning to go with their stories, I decided not to botch anything and to just list the stories with no explanation. The ideas all seem pretty original to me. I'll just leave it at that.

Oh, and just to clarify, neither of these two authors asked me to recommend their stories—I'll only recommend something if I really like it. So in case anyone has this in mind, please don't ask me to publicize your story, because then I most likely won't, unless your story really does blow my mind.

Anyway, here they are (in no particular order, mind you):

_Stop the Whole World_ by Seleen

_The Possibility_ by Jazzy1

_Torn_ by Jazzy1

Sorry if the uber-long Author's Note misled you into thinking this was a longer chapter… I'll put up the next chapter soon, I promise! Until then, look up these stories! I hope you like them as much as I do (:


	55. Chapter 55 D

**Author's Note:** Oh gosh, I almost felt like not posting a chapter today (but obviously, since the new chapter is right here, I do hope you know I got over myself). I'm feeling rather like a spoiled brat, and I hate that feeling… xD But anyway, in case you're wondering, let me explain to you the silly, stupid reason why I was reluctant to post.

Today, I was looking at the summary for number of reviews that I'd gotten, and for the last few chapters I posted… while they had close to the normal number of hits that I get, they had a lot less reviews than say, the stretch from chapters 41-47. And then I realized that it must be because that when my chapters are posted closer together, most people tend to just keep reading and then review at the end of the latest post (which makes a lot of sense; it's the way I review, too, so please understand that I'm not saying it's wrong to do that).

So part of the reason why I hadn't gotten as many reviews for these latest chapters was because they were all posted so close together (another reason could just be that people are getting tired of the story, but I'd rather not think about that). And that made me want to hold this chapter back a day or so. But then I figured that that wouldn't be fair to the people who _did_ review, and I'd promised to update more regularly, so I got down to editing anyway. So don't worry, I won't let the number of reviews dictate my updating speed. I promise.

I'd like to say that I'm above these numbers, but then I'd just be lying, and that's not a good thing either. So I'll just conclude that I've been spoiled by the larger numbers of reviews in the past, and we'll leave it at that. Oy vey. Did not mean to make this author's note so ridiculously long. Whoops!

Now that I'm done rambling, here's the next chapter!

**Chapter 55**

I'm alive.

This can't be death. My whole body feels like it's made of lead. I don't have the strength—or the desire, for that matter—to move a muscle. I've never gone to the point when I had literally nothing left. And from the way that life seems to be draining right out of my limbs, I may very well have gone too far.

My left arm appears to have gone completely numb.

But then, the numbness is only in my left arm. If I really were on the way out, my whole body would be losing feeling. Maybe I'm not beyond help yet…

I force my eyes open and am confronted by brightness. My eyes automatically shut, avoiding the light.

I try to flex my left hand, but something other than my sluggishness is obstructing its movement.

Then there's a light squeeze on my hand, and I hear her voice.

"Draco… are you awake?"

I think I've gotten even weaker since I was last conscious. I feel like I can't even speak. I already feel sleep dragging at the edges of my mind, threatening to pull me into the dark.

Her fingers thread through my hair.

If I just fall asleep… will I never wake?

She repeats my name. Her hand brushes briefly against my cheek before being drawn back rapidly. Then her fingertips come into contact with my face again.

"Draco, please wake up—answer me," she says. There's a sense of urgency in her tone.

Oh, but I'm so tired.

Then her shaking fingers press against the side of my neck, and I realize that she's muttering to herself.

"Please don't be dead, please don't be dead…"

I groggily force my eyes open a crack. "Still kicking," I whisper.

I watch as the expression on her face transitions from frantic to relieved in a heartbeat. She pulls me upward in an attempt to sit me up, but I'm dead weight in her arms, and I know it. I try my best to help her, but my mind seems to have detached itself from the rest of me, and my body remains stubbornly unresponsive.

She eventually hauls me up partway and sits behind me so that I'm leaning back on her. My head lolls to the side, my forehead pressing into her neck, and I strain to take some pressure off her, to no avail.

"I must say…" I mutter, "Naree would be… taking… much better care… of me."

"Is it so horrible that I want to repay you for nursing me back to health?" she says, holding up a glass of liquid.

She struggles with the angle—my shoulders are very broad, and reaching around them is difficult for her. It doesn't help that I've put on quite a bit of muscle in the past few years.

"Get Blaise," I murmur. "He'll help."

She doesn't do as I say. Of course. How could I have forgotten how stubborn she was? She presses the edge of the glass against my lips.

"If you don't drink this, I'll force it down your throat."

"Sounds fun."

"Shut up and drink," she says.

I let her pour it into my mouth. The liquid is cool and feels soothing on its way down my throat, but as I finish the glass, I start to feel its effects in my stomach in the form of an acutely painful burning sensation. Soon, it spreads so that all of the nerve endings in my body seem to be on fire.

"Draco?"

She sounds alarmed, and I wonder how much pain is showing on my face. I tense up and clamp my teeth together to avoid biting my lips or tongue. Her arms are squeezing me almost painfully, and despite the pain, having those thin arms wrapped around me brings me much more happiness than I would have expected, makes the ordeal more bearable.

All I can hear is a distinct rushing sound, punctuated by loud beats. It's blood rushing to my head, I realize. Blood is pounding in my ears, blocking out all else.

But I still feel her arms around me, and I take comfort in that fact.

I don't realize that I'm shaking until the pain fades, and I slowly stop. Her words become defined, and I realize that she's chanting repeatedly under her breath: "You're going to be fine."

Then she seems to notice that I've stopped shuddering.

"Draco, are you all right?" she asks tentatively, as though she's afraid of the response.

I nod and am thankful for the ability to move, even if it's as slight a movement as a nod. "Better."

She sighs, relieved. "I thought you were about to die, Draco. Your skin was so, so cold."

"Sorry I scared you," I mumble.

I wish I could see her face, but she's still behind me, cradling my torso, and it would take too much effort for me to even lift my head. I don't ever want to leave this safe haven. But I know that I'm heavy, and I don't want to burden her.

"You can let me go now," I say.

Instead of doing as I say, her arms tighten around me protectively. I try again to lift my head to look at her, but I still feel too weak for that.

"Hermione, _what_ are you _doing?_ Is that _Malfoy?_"

Ah, the Weaselette.

"Ginny, I'm so sorry I woke you up," Granger says.

"No, I woke up on my own," the Weaselette says. "What are you doing?"

"He was really hurt."

"So you are… hugging him until he feels better?"

"No…"

"Then explain."

"Body heat helps for recovery," I fib.

"Yeah. Right."

Well, she's not as dumb as her brother, I'll give her that.

Granger rubs my arms. "You still feel so cold, even through your sleeves," she comments.

"I was on the brink of death," I reply. "What'd you expect?"

She punches my shoulder. "If you knew you were dying, you should've told me before you went to sleep."

"Before I fainted of exhaustion, you mean."

Instead of replying to me, she says, "Ginny, please stop staring."

I glance over and see that that pair of light brown eyes is indeed fixed on us.

"Just put me down," I tell Granger.

"All right," she says.

She slowly shifts away, lowering me carefully. I'm tempted to tell her that I'm not made of glass, but the tender look on her face is so breathtaking that I can't bring myself to make it go away.

I wince—the motion, however slow, still stretches out my extremely sore muscles, and I close my eyes.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"I don't know," she replies. "Morning?"

"Hermione," the Weaselette says, "it's starting to hurt again."

"I'll be right back," Granger says, getting to her feet and leaving the room.

Right, Ginny Weasley was injured. That's part of the reason why she's here in the first place. I wonder what hurt her badly enough that she still hasn't recovered. But then again, it's only been two nights since the attack on the Order. If she'd been attacked by Dolohov, she'd still have a few days left to go in order to make a full recovery. And Dolohov isn't even our very best.

"So, what happened to you?" the Weaselette asks me.

I turn my head to the side just enough so that I can see her. "None of your business."

She scowls. "Why aren't you at the Manor, anyway? It's where you belong, isn't it?"

"Why don't you ask Granger when she gets back?"

At that moment, Granger reenters the room. "Ask me what? And it's just after ten," she says.

Right, I'd asked her about the time.

"I wanted to know why Malfoy isn't at the Manor," the Weaselette says, starting to sit up.

Granger is immediately beside her, supporting her. She gives the Weaselette a goblet to drink from, and the room falls silent. I close my eyes, resting them. I still feel ridiculously weak—I know that it'll take quite some time for me to recover, but I _hate_ feeling helpless.

"He showed up here last night, and he was seriously injured. I told him to stay," Granger says.

There's a silence, and I sense that Weasley doesn't like the fact that Granger asked me to stay. I suppose I could piss her off even more and say that I didn't even _want_ to be here, that I wanted to go back to the Manor instead. But I feel like it would take too much effort.

Merlin, too tired to irritate a Weasley? There really _is_ something terribly wrong with me.

Then the bed dips slightly, and I open my eyes to see that Granger is perched on the side of my bed, watching me. She gives me a small smile, and I feel uneasy. I glance to the side and see that the Weaselette is glaring at me as though I forced Granger to come to me.

"You know, I saw the two of you," the redhead says.

"What do you mean?" Granger asks.

I look back up at her face and see that her eyes are still fixed on me. Why won't she stop staring? It's slightly unnerving to see her watching me—it's making me start to doubt that this is reality. And it makes me feel as though I can't look at her. I don't want her to catch me looking at her.

"The night before last, I saw you."

Was I even here the night before… _oh_.

"The night before last?" Granger repeats softly. "I thought you were asleep, Ginny."

"What's gotten into you two? You always hated each other. I mean, I thought you were with me on this, Hermione. We _never_ liked Malfoy."

At any other time, I feel like I would have had a snide comment to shoot back at her, but my brain feels extremely sluggish.

"His dad tried to _kill_ me, Hermione. Remember?"

"That was his dad, not him."

"Why are you defending him?"

"He saved my life," Granger says calmly. "More than once."

I'm aching to look at her face, but I can still feel her eyes on me, so I keep my eyes focused on a spot on the ceiling.

"I find that hard to believe. But I guess he _did_ get you and Zabini out of prison."

"That he did."

The two of them fall silent, and I chance a glance at Granger, only to find that she's still watching me.

"How are you feeling?" she asks.

I savor the caring look in her eyes and the slight upward tilt of the corners of her lips, committing her expression to memory so that I'll have it always.

"Exhausted," I reply, settling on the truth.

She lifts a hand and moves it toward me, hesitantly. I watch its progress until it's out of my sight, and then I feel her fingers brushing through my hair.

"Sleep, then," she finally says. "Now that you're not in danger of dying, you need natural sleep to recover."

I want to protest, want to say that I'd much rather stay up and stare at her face all day. Bugger recovery. If being injured will keep her at my bedside, I wouldn't mind letting Voldemort chop one of my legs off. Hell, he could take both of them.

When my eyes don't close at her suggestion, she frowns disapprovingly.

"Sleep, Malfoy. You need it," she urges.

Irritation stirs in me. Of course, now that her friend's awake, I'm not Draco anymore. I'm Malfoy. But even that emotion is too tiring to keep up. Oh, for fuck's sake, I can't wait to get better.

I take one last look at her before shutting my eyes.

"If I don't wake up by evening, you have to wake me. I have somewhere to be tonight," I say.

"Can you really recover enough in one day?" she asks. "I don't think—"

"Don't be so fussy," I say. "It's not something I can control, anyway. I'm required to be there."

"Fine. What time?"

"Nine," I reply.

She sighs. "All right, I'll wake you up at nine, if you're not already up."

"Hermione, I think you've gone mental…" I hear the Weaselette say as I spiral toward unconsciousness.

Well, little weasel, we're all a little mental, aren't we?

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yes, Draco, I agree. We're all a little mental (:


	56. Chapter 56 H

**Author's Note:** Gosh, I'm sorry about the last author's note. It appears that I've guilt-tripped a lot of you into reviewing, so I feel kinda bad. I was in a relatively unhappy mood when I went to edit the last chapter, and that's what came out when I started writing the author's note. I still mean everything I said, of course, but I probably shouldn't have been mildly ranting about it xD

So, to make up for making you guys read a ridiculously long and snippy author's note last time, I've decided to put up this chapter a bit earlier than I'd originally planned to.

**Chapter 56**

"Hermione, I think you've gone mental."

Yes, I think that's a valid assessment, seeing as I can't seem to stop looking at his face.

"What exactly did you see, the night before last?" I ask her.

She doesn't reply, and I finally lift my eyes away from Draco's face to look at Ginny. The redhead is watching me with a guarded expression, as though she's trying to decide how much to tell me.

"Come on, Ginny, out with it."

"You kissed him," she says. "And it looked like he… like he didn't want to. Why, Hermione? Of all people, why him? I mean, Harry and I thought that it was only a matter of time before you and Blaise realized how good you'd be for each other. But Malfoy? _Malfoy?_"

I sigh. "Ginny, please stop. I already have enough of those thoughts running in my head, without you helping them on."

"I don't understand. Why?"

"I can't explain it," I say. "I just… I don't know how to describe it."

"Well… I'll admit that he has a pretty face, but a _lot_ of guys do, Hermione."

"It's not just his appearance—do you really think I'd like a guy just for his appearance?" I say. Then I turn to look back at Draco. "Malfoy's changed. He's not the same person he was at school."

"That doesn't justify _liking_ him," Ginny argues.

"Why are you so close-minded? I thought that you, of all people, would understand."

"His dad tried to _kill_ me. His aunt tortured you, killed my dad, and so many more people. They're Death Eaters, Hermione. You can't just overlook that. I'm not being close-minded, I'm being rational. And I thought _you_, of all people, would appreciate that."

"We can't choose our family," I say.

"Yes, but we _can_ choose our paths. He chose the wrong one."

"But—"

"And _don't_ say that it was all because of his family. Zabini turned his back on his family and picked the right side, didn't he? I respect him for that. Even Ron does—he'll never admit it because he's too busy being a jealous prat most of the time, but I know he does."

"Well, Malfoy's trying to make it right, now. I'm not saying that it was a good thing that he joined the Dark side, but it's certainly worked out for our benefit so far," I reason. "If not for him, Blaise and I would still be locked up in those dungeon cells."

"We would have gotten—"

"_No_," I say, remembering a fact that will surely help Draco onto Ginny's good side. "If it weren't for Malfoy, Harry would be dead."

My words silence Ginny, and she stares at me incredulously. Then, in a voice filled with skepticism, she says, "How?"

"The night that Harry got hurt at the Leaky Cauldron, I went to Hogwarts to get that herb for him. I wouldn't have made it back without Malfoy. And if I hadn't gotten back and made that potion, Harry would have died."

There's a brief silence as I let my words sink in.

"What happened at Hogwarts?" she finally asks.

"I made it out of the castle all right, but I ran across a Death Eater patrolling the grounds and had to swerve into the Forbidden Forest. I almost made it to an Apparition Point, but I got caught. Malfoy killed three Death Eaters and let me go."

Ginny frowns. "But… wasn't that even before he said that he'd come to our side? I remember Harry was already better by the time we had the meeting about Malfoy."

I nod. "He was probably already thinking about turning at that point," I say. "I just think he deserves another chance. Don't you?"

"Another chance, sure. We can all try to be friends. But you _kissed_—"

I sigh. "Ginny, you can't tell me what to do. I just… I feel different with him. Better."

"You're right. I can't control you. I just don't want anything to happen to you—you're one of my best friends."

I smile at her. "I know, and thank you. But I know what I'm doing."

At least, I think I do. I take another look at his face. He has on a troubled expression again, tense with what looks like worry. I rub at the crease between his eyebrows again, wanting him to relax. All of those high-stress situations must take such a toll on him.

"You do look like you know what you're doing," Ginny says softly. "I… I hope you're right about him, for your sake."

I smile. "Thanks, Ginny."

Then I frown. It was already after ten when I got some more of Ginny's potion for her, but none of the boys seemed to be up. Odd.

I get to my feet. "I'll go check on the boys."

"Okay."

I exit the room, pull the door shut, and freeze. Blaise is sitting on the couch, twirling his wand between his fingertips idly.

"Blaise," I say, surprised.

He looks up when he hears his name and smiles. "Morning, Hermione."

"Morning," I say.

God, I feel like an idiot. I have no clue what to say to him. I haven't had to be alone with him since he confessed his feelings for me, and I honestly don't know how to act around him anymore.

"You're thinking too much, again," he says.

I sigh. "You have to stop doing that."

He raises an eyebrow. "Doing what?"

"Reading my mind."

He only chuckles, shaking his head.

I start for the couch, but then the fireplace crackles into life, and I immediately leap backwards, flattening against the wall beside the fireplace to stay out of sight.

The Floo connection to this cottage is _open?_ Dear Merlin. Blaise doesn't have enough time to get out of the way, but for some reason, he doesn't budge, even though the person on the other side must be able to see him.

There's a long silence, and I wish I could see who was visiting.

Someone must be looking for Draco—this is his home, after all. Since it's under the Fidelius Charm, they won't be able to see the room or its furnishings, but they will be able to see the inhabitants. Since Draco's in the house, the Floo Network connected the visitor to this fireplace.

Then, I hear a familiar voice. "Blaise… that _can't_ be you."

Blaise grins. "Uncanny, isn't it?"

What on earth is he doing?

A very loud sigh of relief comes from the fireplace. "You really, _really_ scared me, Draco. I thought you'd gotten captured or something."

Blaise keeps the same grin on his face. "Nah, I was just keeping my skills fresh. Haven't practiced for years. Looks like I'm still pretty damn good at it, if I almost fooled you."

"Can you… can you stop it? It's… you even fucking _sound_ like him. It's too much, mate."

"Oh, I'm just getting comfortable in this skin. Come on, Theo, you shouldn't be scared of seeing Blaise's face. We're going to have to see him again, eventually."

"Please," Nott says.

Blaise sighs and gets a proper hold on his wand. "Yeah all right, I'll humor you."

Then, before my eyes, he morphs into Draco. My jaw drops. He looks _exactly_ like Draco—a perfect likeness. Human Transfiguration? It must be. We learned it in sixth year, so I suppose if they spent enough time perfecting their skills…

"Better?"

Oh, and he sounds exactly like Draco, too. That's… more than slightly unnerving.

"Yes, much better," Nott says.

A slight smirk lifts the corners of Blaise's lips, and the effect this motion creates reminds me so much of Draco that I have to look away. It's just Blaise. Just Blaise.

"So, to what do I owe this pleasure?" he asks.

"Well, I heard the news from Astoria. Congratulations."

I bite my lip nervously. Congratulations for what? What is Blaise going to do? But when I look at his face, he seems to be completely confident. Does he really know what Nott is talking about?

His—Draco's—silver eyes flash dangerously. "Are my ears failing me, or did you just _congratulate_ me?"

I frown. Is he _that_ sure of what he's talking about? This seems like awfully dangerous ground. After all, he can't know much about Draco's life in these past three years. There _must_ have been changes…

"I erm…" Nott says hesitantly. "She said…"

"Does it matter what _she_ said? You should know by now that she's a habitual liar," Blaise says.

"She's changed—"

"You and I both know that people don't really change. We'd like to think that they do, but they don't. You shouldn't believe what she tells you."

"Then… there's no wedding?"

I frown. _Wedding?_ We're in the middle of a bloody _war!_

"That's not what I said," Blaise says easily, leaning back into the couch. "She told you that I was happy about it, didn't she?"

"Yeah, she did."

"That's what she's lying about."

How in the world can Blaise be so sure about this? I'd be terrified if I were in his position. But I suppose it makes sense—he knew Draco's life perfectly well, inside and out. And he's definitely a talented liar. Still… three _years!_ How can he be so sure of himself after such a long time?

"Then…" Nott says.

"I won't let it happen if I can help it."

"Why? She's not bad-looking. It could be a lot worse."

"Do you think I'm going to let my _father_ decide who I'm going to suffer the rest of my life with? If I ever do get married, it's going to be to a woman with whom I can hold an intelligent conversation, and not _Astoria_ Greengrass."

"Well. This reaction from you makes a lot more sense," Nott says from the fireplace. "Astoria said you were thrilled."

What if Draco really _had_ been happy?

I really don't want to react this way, but I can't help the twinge of jealousy that rises in my chest. This is absolutely absurd! I'm being completely illogical. Even if Draco did act happy in front of Greengrass, it would have been to keep his cover.

But that jealousy is still right there, like an itch that I can't scratch.

"Is that all you came for?" Blaise asks.

"I wanted to know if you have time to meet at the pub tonight. Greg and Vince just got switched back to Hogwarts duty, so they'll be coming tonight. It's been a while since you came, and I don't think I can handle all that stupidity on my own."

"I'm not feeling up to it. Next time."

"But—"

"You'd force me to go?" Blaise says, raising an eyebrow.

"No, no, of course not. I'll erm… see you some other time, then."

The flames die down, but I'm still a little worried about moving into view.

"I think it's safe now," Blaise says.

"Can you… change back, please?" I ask him.

He smirks, and I shudder at the unnatural resemblance.

"It's so fun to watch you squirm uncomfortably, though," he says.

I take a few steps toward him. "Did you already know about Greengrass?"

He shakes his head and Transfigures back into himself. "I improvised. Is Draco in the house? He must be, if the Floo took Theo here."

I nod. "He's really hurt, in the bedroom. Where are Harry and Ron?"

"They went to McGonagall's together with the dagger—they wanted to show it to McGonagall and Shacklebolt," Blaise informs me.

"I see."

"What happened to Draco?"

"I don't know about it—he wouldn't say what happened."

"Is he awake?"

"No—I told him to sleep."

"I want to talk to him."

"He almost died of overexertion. He needs to sleep," I say.

Blaise frowns. "Overexertion? Draco's got an unnaturally high capacity for magic. It's hard to believe he'd be overworked to the point of death."

"How do you know—"

"Pureblood families test for magical capacity," Blaise says, answering my question before I finish asking it. "As soon as kids start to show magical power, parents take them to see their potential."

I frown. "How can that possibly be accurate?"

"I don't really know how it works. There are these witches… they're like Seers. I know you think Divination is a load of bollocks, but these people are seldom proven wrong."

That's actually really interesting. I wonder what they base their conclusions on. There must be something concrete that these witches can test, if they're really so accurate…

But I suppress my intellectual curiosity and say, "Well, whatever his capacity for wandless magic is, he exceeded it by too much. What is it that you want to talk to him about?"

"It's personal. No worries—it can wait until he recovers. How are you?"

I hesitate. Is he asking about…?

"Oh, Hermione," he says. "I just knew that I shouldn't have said a thing. You think far too much for your own good."

"I… I'm not thinking…"

"Of _course_ you're not," he says, smiling.

I turn away from him. "You are officially never allowed to look at my face again," I say.

He bursts into laughter behind me.

"Blaise, you're awful," I say, heading for the kitchen.

He catches my hand and spins me around. "Sorry, Hermione."

When I raise an eyebrow at him, he smiles.

"I'm serious," he adds.

"You don't look so serious," I say.

He makes a straight face and releases my hand. "I'm very serious. I'm sorry."

I sigh. "There's really nothing you should be apologizing for, Blaise. Don't—"

He holds up a hand. "I shouldn't have told you," he says. "I was serious about you—_let me finish_."

Of _course_ he'd know that I was about to speak. I roll my eyes but hold my tongue.

"I wanted to back off, to hide my feelings behind jokes and teasing," he continues. "I knew you'd never had those types of feelings for me, and I knew that as soon as I told you how I felt, you'd feel guilty for hurting me because you didn't feel the same way."

God, why does he have to know me so damn well?

"I knew all of these things, but I was still too selfish to just back off and let you go. And for _that_, I'm sorry."

I pause for a moment to make sure he's finished before speaking. "Blaise, you shouldn't feel sorry for expressing your feelings. You have a right—"

"Yes, I know," he cuts me off. "But don't deny that you wish I hadn't said a thing."

"Don't say that," I say.

"Don't say what?"

We turn our heads to see that Harry's just Apparated into the room.

"Oh, nothing," Blaise says as another pop signals Ron's arrival. "I was just making fun of Ickle Ronniekins again."

"I heard that," Ron says, frowning at Blaise.

"What did they say about the dagger?" I ask the pair.

"Shacklebolt wanted to keep it," Harry says. "But I said that I could handle it—after all, we were the ones who destroyed the other Horcruxes."

"Did you say anything about the plan for Hogwarts?" Blaise asks.

"Shacklebolt is suspicious. McGonagall likes the idea, but she isn't so sure either," Harry reports.

"We should get out of the living room," I say. "Apparently the house is connected to the Floo Network—Nott appeared in the fireplace earlier."

"_What?_" Ron exclaims. "I thought this place was protected by the Fid—"

"Yes, but the occupants aren't," I interrupt him. "Nott could see Blaise."

"What happened, then?" Harry asks worriedly.

"Draco and I learned how to Transfigure back and forth when we were still at Hogwarts. I pretended to be Draco, pretending to be me," Blaise replies.

"Hermione, what about you?" Ron asks.

"I wasn't in sight when he appeared, so I just stayed out of sight."

"Wait…" Harry says slowly. "Then doesn't that mean Malfoy is in the house?"

"Yes," I say. "He got here last night, really badly injured. He's sleeping right now."

"Yeah, I saw him here last night," Ron says. "He was pretty pale."

I look at Ron, surprised by how calm he is. After all, he'd seen Draco sleeping in the bed that I'd been using.

"Well, since we ought to stay out of the living room, let's go keep Ginny company," Harry says.

"I'm hungry again," Ron says. "I'll be in the kitchen."

"From the way you eat, Weasley, I would've thought you were a professional troll wrestler," Blaise comments.

"Keep a lid on it," Ron says, exiting into the kitchen.

"Wow, Harry. What did you do? He's so much calmer than usual," I say.

Harry laughs.

"Maybe he's finally grown up," Blaise says, smirking.

We start moving toward the bedroom when Ron's voice rings out from the kitchen.

"I _heard_ that!"


	57. Chapter 57 D

**Author's Note:** I'm a little anxious about how you guys are going to take this chapter. But I let my muse take the reins, so I'm following her for the ride. And as I've said to a few reviewers, this story is as much about the war as it is about the relationship between Draco and Hermione.

I was listening to some music on iTunes that I hadn't heard in a long time, and I'm just curious to see if any of you happen to love this song as much as I do, so let me know if you recognize the following song lyrics! I really like the song they came from. Please don't just google them, because that's no fun :P

"No matter how many deaths that I die I will never forget. No matter how many lies that I live I will never regret."

God, his voice sounds so beautiful for those two lines… (:

Mkay, here's the chapter!

**Chapter 57**

I wake and jolt upright.

The room is dark. Where…?

I feel a lot better. I feel _alive_.

Then I realize that my left hand is going numb again. I glance over to see Granger slumped over the edge of my bed, holding my hand.

A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow hard as warmth swells in my chest.

She cares.

I'd known from the way she was fretting over me that she does care. I don't know if that'll turn into anything more, but this… this is enough for now.

Fuck, I'm turning into a touchy-feely sap. And it's all her fault. This is awful.

I touch her soft curls with my free hand and consider shaking her awake so that I can see those warm, brown eyes. But she must be exhausted, if she could fall asleep in such an uncomfortable position. I can't bring myself to disturb her.

And besides, she'll probably try to stop me from leaving.

I very carefully release my hand from her grasp and slip out of bed, moving as slowly as possible so that I won't jolt her awake. I make it to the door and exit successfully. As I shut the door behind me, the lights in the living room turn on.

"Blaise," I say, turning around to face him.

"How'd you know it was me and not one of the other two?"

"They wouldn't wait for me like this. What time is it?"

"Just past midnight."

"Fuck."

"Was there somewhere you needed to be?"

I nod distractedly. I should go now—who knows what Voldemort will do to me for missing our session tonight? Goddamn it, Granger.

"Theo visited," Blaise says, catching my attention. "I got caught, but I played it like we used to."

"And he bought it?"

He nods. "Didn't suspect a thing."

"Brilliant. What'd you tell him?"

"Nothing. He wanted to congratulate you about Astoria."

I make a face.

"That's what I thought," Blaise says, grinning. "So I set him straight about that."

"Anything else I should know?"

"Hmm, well. Theo said that Greg and Vince are on Hogwarts duty for a while. And he asked you to meet for drinks tonight, but I rejected for you."

I nod.

"Oh, and Hermione didn't seem too happy when she heard about Astoria. I'd clear that up with her, if I were you," he says.

"I don't have time for that," I say. "Naree!"

The house-elf appears in an instant.

"Do you have the information?"

Naree nods and passes me a roll of parchment. I unroll it to look at the writing—names, times, and then a large map at the bottom with numerous routes detailed on it. I roll it back up and pass it to Blaise.

"That's all you should need, to take Hogwarts," I tell him.

"If I may speak, Master…" Naree pipes up.

"Go ahead."

"Miss Bellatrix is being punished at the Manor," he murmurs.

"For what?" I ask, frowning.

"For losing you, Master."

"Wouldn't it make more sense for Voldemort to be punishing your parents?" Blaise asks.

Hmm. Does Aunt Bella know about my potential for moving into a position of power? What if she was sent to the Manor not to keep an eye on my father, but to watch over me? It would have seemed like a far-fetched idea not so long ago, but with all the trouble Voldemort has gone through to train me, it doesn't seem so much of a stretch now.

"Shouldn't you go back?" Blaise prods. "She's a nasty bitch, but she's still your aunt. And I know what family means to you."

I nod. "I know it's the truth, but don't call her that in my presence."

"Hermione said that you overexerted yourself. How—"

"You haven't changed a bit. Still as nosy as always."

He chuckles. "No, I haven't changed. I also want to know what you're going to do about Astoria. But I know you're busy, so I suppose that'll just have to wait until next time."

"Astoria? I'm just going to ignore her until she goes away. And I'm not telling you how I got hurt. Now I'm going to make sure that that madman doesn't kill my aunt. Bye."

"Bye, mate."

I Apparate to my room at the Manor and remind Naree that he's not to say a word to anyone. He promises his obedience and disappears.

Then I head downstairs and follow the screams to the drawing room.

It's a rare sight—Aunt Bella's on the floor, screaming. As I step into the room, the shrieking stops, and Mother drops to her knees.

"Bella—oh, Bella, are you—"

"Stop blubbering, witch!" Father barks.

"Draco…" Voldemort says. "How nice of you to join us."

The room falls silent except for Aunt Bella's panting and Mother's subdued sobs.

I take a knee. "My Lord."

"You seem to have recovered quite well."

"No thanks to you," I say curtly.

He smiles sinisterly and gestures for me to get to my feet. "You know what kind of pain your insubordination will cause you, do you not?" he sneers. "I assure you, it can—and will—get much worse, if you do not show me proper deference."

"You're a man of your word," I say. "I almost died last night."

Mother's eyes are immediately fixed on me, filled with worry. Father looks surprised as well, but not half as concerned. Figures.

"Clearly, someone healed you. Otherwise, I'm sure you'd be on your way to the next life by now."

I just look at him blandly. I don't know what's giving me the guts to be rude to him. Maybe it's the anger from watching him torture Aunt Bella. No one does that to my aunt.

"Come," Voldemort hisses. "We must be going now."

"To where?"

"You would do well not to question me, boy. Pack some supplies. We leave in five minutes."

With that, he disappears.

"What are you waiting for, Draco? Go pack!" Father says.

Instead, I move to Aunt Bella's side, kneeling beside my mother.

"Sorry, Aunt Bella."

"Oh, go on, now," she says. "Your aunt's taken worse than this before."

She's not pissed? I'm taken aback.

"Just come back alive so I can return the favor," she says through gritted teeth.

All right, maybe she's a little pissed.

"I will," I say with a grim smile.

"Be careful, Draco dear," Mother says, patting my arm.

I nod curtly before getting to my feet and exiting the room. I hurry upstairs to my bedroom and summon Naree.

"Pack my bag," I say. "All the usual. Finish in five."

I sit down on my bed as Naree summons items from around the room to place in my bag. The charm burns my chest, and I pull it out.

_Arse_.

I hold back a smile—Voldemort has a habit of materializing out of thin air, and the last thing I need is for him to discover the connection between my charm and Granger's. I contemplate replying but ultimately decide against it, tucking the charm back under my shirt. Just as I finish, the Dark Lord appears a few feet away from me.

"Finished?" he says.

That was most definitely _not_ five minutes.

"Naree," I say.

The house-elf holds my pack up for me. I shrink it and place it in the pouch that holds my emergency equipment.

"Naree, you're dismissed," I say.

He disappears promptly, his well wishes conveyed only by a widening of his large eyes.

"Now there's no one else to hear. Can I know where we're going?" I ask warily.

"All in good time," Voldemort replies.

He touches my shoulder, and I expect the tight compression of Apparition. Instead, there's a strange, floating sensation. I've never felt anything like it. I feel like a leaf blowing in the wind.

Where are we going? I try to control the worry that's threatening to overcome me—I can't fret too much, or he might punish me for being weak.

We stop at intermediate destinations several times, but I never recognize the places—a deserted street corner, a lonely country lane, a dark abandoned house, a busy street. We must be very far from home, if we've had to stop so many times despite traveling by Apparition.

Finally, we stop, and I observe our surroundings warily.

We stand at the end of an extremely long, outdoor walkway. Snow-covered trees line either side of the paved path. Snow. We must be somewhere far north. I see a large palace at the end of the path, but I can't seem to place the architectural style.

Then Voldemort places a Disillusionment Charm on me.

"You are not here," he says.

"I understand," I reply.

These will most likely be my last words of the night. I've shadowed him before on a two-day visit to France, but I was hidden for the entirety of the trip, and I didn't speak a word for the whole time. But that was a few months ago, and he didn't explain why he'd brought me along.

I wonder if he'll explain why I'm here this time.

Then he's moving up the walk, and I take a few quick steps to catch up.

Two years ago, I shadowed Aunt Bella everywhere, and I developed the skill of moving "silently" by matching my footfalls exactly with hers. I've trained my feet to match the motion of the person I'm following.

But I still can't do it with Voldemort. His footfalls make no sound, as though he really does glide. I'm moving as quietly as possible, but I'm still painfully aware of the sound of my feet on the ground. I try to match my footsteps with his anyway, so that should anyone hear me, they would assume it was Voldemort.

Men appear between the trees that line the walk, one in each gap. I estimate about twenty of them, all pointing their wands at us. Voldemort doesn't slow his pace, and I continue to follow close behind.

Two men step directly in our path, but still Voldemort maintains the quick pace.

"If you know what's best for you, you will stand down," he says.

The men point their wands at us and shout for us to halt. It takes me a moment to place which language it's in—that's the trouble with knowing too many languages: you can understand instantaneously, but it sometimes takes a while to figure out _which_ language you just heard.

Russian.

Holy fuck, we're in Russia.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Bleh, I had a major food coma right in the middle of editing this chapter (ate dinner before sitting down to edit). So if there are any glaring errors that I missed, I blame it on my not being fully conscious… I seriously knocked out for a good twenty minutes…

But anyway, I'll update again very soon.


	58. Chapter 58 D

**Author's Note:** Hello there! If you've been to my profile today, you probably know this already, but I am moving to a new apartment on this Thursday (2 days from now). I've been procrastinating like crazy with packing, so I basically have the rest of today and then all of tomorrow to get all my stuff together. Ahhhh!

So, unfortunately, I might not be posting again tomorrow or the day after, depending on just how much time it takes for me to pack and move, and get settled in… bleh, I hate moving.

Anyway, on to the chapter!

**Chapter 58**

When Voldemort shows no sign of slowing down, the men in front of us begin to fire, and the guards on either side follow suit. I quicken my pace to stay closer to Voldemort, who's deflecting the spells easily while keeping up the same pace. It seems as though we're moving in a magic-proof bubble.

The two wizards who were standing in our path get blasted to the sides, crashing into the nearest pair of trees.

We reach the palace, and Voldemort throws open the giant doors with a flick of his wand.

"Dorian!" he calls out as we enter a cavernous great hall.

This is the first time I've heard him raise his voice in years.

"Tom Riddle calls for you!"

An old man appears, flanked by a number of servants.

"Ah, Tom, my old friend," he says in a clearly British accent. "Come with me—servants, begone!"

We follow him up a few flights of steps and into what is clearly a study.

"Old friend?" Voldemort says, responding to the man's greeting. "Hardly. You do not seem quite so keen on inviting me into your home as you were the last time we met."

"Well, I didn't know I'd have the honor—"

"Ah, ah, let's not lie to each other, Dorian. We're far past such silly games."

"Very well, then. Why don't you reveal the pet that you've brought along?"

Voldemort smiles, surprising me. Who _is_ this Dorian? How can he speak to the Dark Lord like that and get a _smile_ from the damn snake?

"Nothing gets past you," Voldemort says. "But I will not reveal his face to you. Not yet, at least."

"Why have you come, Tom?"

"Oh, I think you know very well the answer to that question."

"I will not—"

"I know that you met with Kingsley Shacklebolt. That you received him right here in this very parlor, in fact."

Dorian looks troubled.

"Your followers are not as strong as you believe them to be. So, I am here to see what your decision is."

Dorian turns and walks a few paces away, toward the window. "Well, you've come. I do not have much of a choice then, do I?"

"There is always a choice."

"But you will kill me if I make the wrong one."

Voldemort nods. "Unfortunately, yes. If you do not join me, then you will be worth more to me dead."

Dorian stares out the window at the snowy landscape. "Allow me to think on it."

"If I had allowed myself time to _think on it_, you would not be here."

I frown. It's hard to imagine that anyone could be _alive_ because of Voldemort. But if this Dorian knows him as Tom, he must have known him before his transformation into Lord Voldemort.

"Yes, you are correct," Dorian says. "That's a wizard's debt. You have every right to reclaim my life."

"What is it to be, then?"

"I fled my beloved country to escape from you, Tom. I am not Dorian Langley anymore because of you."

"I am aware."

Dorian turns around. "What would you have me do?" he asks wearily.

"I thought that would be fairly obvious. Isn't that what you ran from, in the first place?"

"Then what makes you think I will join now?"

"You've seen the Death Eaters in your fields, the deaths of your farmers and workers, the pillaging of the villages under your protection. I can make it all stop with one order. My men here will be yours to command. Yanov, to the north—you can finally destroy his estate, with my men. Certainly, whatever meager assistance Shacklebolt offered cannot compare to my guarantee for the safety of your land."

Dorian closes his eyes. "You did your homework, Tom. Always were a good student."

"Only the best."

So they knew each other from school.

"Very well, Tom. You have my word—"

"I was not born yesterday, Dorian. You know that there is much more required than your _word_ to convince me of your sincerity."

"Please, Tom, I—"

"Make your choice, and stand by it. This is all or nothing."

Dorian stares at Voldemort for a tense moment, and I begin to wonder if he's calculating the chances of attacking Voldemort and successfully making an escape.

But finally, he lets out a sigh and pulls up the sleeve of his left arm.

"Mark me."

"A wise choice."

He presses his wand to Dorian's forearm.

I haven't seen Voldemort draw a Mark himself since he drew mine four, almost five years ago. The Mark is supposed to be much more powerful when drawn by the Dark Lord himself, but any bearer of the Mark is technically allowed to Mark someone—this is how our forces have expanded so quickly.

I watch with a bit of morbid fascination as the skull forms and the snake slowly twists out of its mouth, slithering down over the white skin.

And then it's over.

"I will speak to the Death Eaters before the night is over. Tomorrow morning, fifty men will report to this estate. They will be under your command."

"Thank you, Tom."

Voldemort's eyes narrow.

"My Lord," Dorian emends.

A familiar sneer stretches Voldemort's pale lips. "I told you that a day would come when those words would slip from your mouth. Do you remember how you replied?"

Dorian nods. "Never."

"I was right, Dorian," Voldemort says. "I always am."

With that, he turns and leaves the room. I hurry behind him.

We move back down the same path. The guards appear again as we pass by, but they do nothing to stop us on our exit. When we reach the end of the path, Voldemort's hand rests on my shoulder, and we Disapparate.

[Insert line break]

"Why did you bring me?" I ask.

We're walking through the middle of the woods, stepping through snow. I'm not sure of our exact location, but I know now that we must be going to meet with the Death Eaters here, in Russia. Damn, is there any place that we haven't hit yet? Maybe Azerbaijan is still free of Death Eaters.

"Are you really so confident in yourself that you think you can inherit an empire without seeing all of it?"

"So I'm here to look at…"

"Your future."

Well… fuck.

"You seem so sure that this is going to happen," I say. "I thought it was only a precautionary measure."

"It's inevitable that I will be killed during your lifetime. It is a fact."

I frown. "How can you be so sure, My Lord?"

"Do not question me. You should know better by now."

"Of course. I apologize."

Then we reach a clearing, and he stops walking. "Now, you will meet our Russian brothers. You may speak, but you cannot be seen."

I bite back the impulse to ask why. I even have my mask on, so I wouldn't be visible anyway. But I suppose my hair color is somewhat distinctive, and hoods can fall off relatively easily.

Then dark, hooded figures appear at the edges of the clearing around us.

One man steps forward, speaking English with a thick Russian accent. "The Dark Lord has returned. Welcome."

The man takes a knee, and there is huge movement between the trees as dozens of people drop to their knees.

"Lenovsky. I see that recruitment has been successful," Voldemort assesses.

"Yes, very," the man—Lenovsky, I suppose—says. "We have followed your orders to the letter. No village has been left untouched in the province."

"You know of the former Dorian Langley, Lord of these lands?"

"Yes."

"He will be in command of your forces in this province—allot fifty of your men for his use."

Lenovsky is silent.

"Do you have an objection? If so, voice it promptly. I do not have time to waste."

"My numbers only just passed six dozen. Will you leave me with only twenty men?"

"Did you not start with ten?"

There's a silence.

"You are a talented recruiter," Voldemort says. "Take your twenty men and sweep west, toward St. Petersburg."

"Very well, My Lord."

"There is another reason for this visit."

Lenovsky nods.

"I have chosen a successor."

"Another Englishman, I suppose," Lenovsky comments in a voice that borders on disdain.

"It's only right, since I myself am an Englishman. Do not be so bold as to think that I will not punish you for disrespect simply because you are a valuable recruiter."

"I meant no disrespect."

Then Voldemort rests a hand on my shoulder. "Speak, so that they will know your voice."

"What am I supposed to say?" I hiss.

"Cast the Dark Mark."

Voldemort passes my wand back to me, and I'm relieved to feel the ten inch, hawthorn wand between my fingers.

I point it up toward the dark night sky and shout forcefully, "Morsmordre!"

A spark shoots up from my wand and flies into the sky. As soon as it disappears, the Dark Mark forms, the giant, ugly skull opening its mouth to release the serpent within. I glance around and notice that the Death Eaters are watching in almost reverent silence—they don't seem to have such strict regulations on wearing masks here, and about half of them are unmasked.

Voldemort smiles sinisterly. "I've always enjoyed your work. It takes a truly Dark wizard to create a Mark like that."

Well, I wonder what _that_ says about me. Fuck. It scares me when he says things like that.

"We walk among you tonight," Voldemort says. Lenovsky calls out the translation in Russian as Voldemort speaks. "This province has been tested, and it is ours."

There's a loud roar of approval.

"Now, we move west. Let us leave no Muggle village untouched, no field unburned. Tonight, we will make this Russian winter night hot as the fires of the inferno."

Another chant.

"Tonight, we will show the Russian Ministry that it is time to choose where it stands!"

With this last statement, he grips my shoulder and dissolves into black smoke, taking me with him. It's an unnerving sensation—I feel like my body has come apart, and there's no guarantee that I'll ever be put back together again.

Then we're soaring above the trees, the wizards below us charging in the same direction, following the thick black streak in the sky—us.

Then I hear Voldemort's voice in my mind.

_I will lift the Charm on you when we hit the ground. Blend with the others. I will come for you when it is time_.

We land in the middle of a small Muggle village that has already been invaded by Death Eaters. There's chaos in the streets as Death Eaters rush through, Apparating and Disapparating, maiming and killing, regardless of age or gender of victims.

The Muggles are entirely defenseless.

Then the Disillusionment Charm lifts off me, and Voldemort takes off again.

A screaming child runs past me, and two Death Eaters push me aside, chasing her. But the wave of Death Eaters is already on the move—these Russians are extremely efficient. It seems from the number of corpses that litter the streets that they've killed or injured at least half of the village and set fire to more than half the buildings.

I race along with them toward the next settlement. The front of the group is already Apparating to the nearest village along this path of motion. Since I don't know where it is, I grab onto a group that's Apparating together and pray that whoever is in charge won't splinch us.

We appear on a hillside and race down toward an already burning town.

As I reach the small houses, I take a deep breath and seal away my conscience.

**Author's Note:** There was quite a bit of improv involved in writing this chapter, relative to the others. And as you can see, there are original characters! I'm usually not very fond of OCs, but I thought I could slip one or two in here. But yeah, I wasn't sure exactly where I was going, but I kind of knew what I wanted to come out of it. Give me your thoughts! I'm oh so curious.

By the way, I suck at "writing accents", so I hope you just sort of imagined an accent for Lenovsky… Hahaha xD


	59. Chapter 59 H

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the abnormally long wait! Moving took a lot longer than I'd anticipated. I'll give you a brief outline, just to prove that I haven't been making you guys wait on purpose. But as always, feel free to skip my little ramble and go straight to the chapter.

Wednesday (8/17) I took a subway to meet my parents at a friend's house, and I stayed the night. Didn't have my laptop with me. Thursday (8/18) I moved into the new apartment. I had to set up my loft (in case you don't know what a loft is, it's like a bunk bed, except the bottom bunk is actually a desk), dresser, and a chair. Friday (8/19) I shopped for supplies and groceries and then helped my first roommate with some cleaning. Saturday (8/20) I helped my sister move into her dorm room, which took until about 1pm, and then I came back to my apartment to help my other roommate set up a dresser and a desk, and then we spent the rest of the time reorganizing furniture to make the place look home-y.

I didn't really have any time to look at _Turncoat_ during all this time :( I answered some messages, and I read your reviews for Ch. 58—believe me, I appreciate them all the same, even though I didn't have time to reply to most of them. You guys are the best!

All right, enough talking. Here's the new chapter!

**Chapter 59**

I make my way down the hall stealthily, wearing a set of robes that have been Transfigured to look just like standard-issue Death Eater robes. The hood is pulled low over my head to hide my hair.

I'm under a Disillusionment Charm at the moment, but the disguise will be necessary soon.

I reach my target location—the seventh floor, right by the Room of Requirement. The Death Eater should be here in two minutes. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and raise my wand.

Then I see a tall figure turn the corner.

_Stupefy! Wingardium Leviosa!_

The man is levitated before he can hit the ground, and I lower him to the ground gently so that he won't make a sound. I step over with my wand still pointed at him. Then I cast a Full Body Bind Curse on him, followed by a Disillusionment Charm.

Now I just have to wait for his replacement.

Almost a full minute later, another Death Eater rounds the corner, and I deal with him in the same way that I subdued the other.

I can't believe it worked.

I levitate both invisible bodies and move over to the Room of Requirement which, at my request, opens into the Room of Hidden Things. I lift the Disillusionment Charms on myself and my two bound victims before stepping back out of the room.

According to Draco's information, which has turned out to be infallible so far, each shift is eight hours long, which means that there are three Death Eaters assigned to each position in order to cover the full twenty-four hours in a day. There are twenty available positions, which means that by the end of the night, should we succeed, we will have captured sixty Death Eaters.

The trouble with Death Eater patrols at Hogwarts is that they're staggered. Shift changes occur every two hours, with five replacements coming onto the grounds and five sentries leaving. This means that this operation is going to take at least sixteen hours, starting from the beginning of the shift of our first group to the end of the shift of our last group.

We decided to start at ten thirty because the cover of night would be helpful. It is now half past midnight—I'm in the second group to enter the grounds. Harry, Blaise, Ron, Neville, and Fred should already be patrolling somewhere, in disguise. The ten Death Eaters that they subdued should all be temporarily stowed away in the Slytherin Dungeons. Now that I have the Room of Requirement covered, the other four from my group—Angelina, Charlie, Dean, and Hannah—will bring their victims up here.

I put on a fake Death Eater mask and start down the hall. Now I just have to patrol for eight hours, until the third and last man for my patrol route shows up to relieve me.

* * *

It's about four hours into my shift, and my feet are beginning to hurt. I have to hand it to them, patrolling for eight-hour shifts must take some discipline. I'm not used to being on my feet for such long periods of time.

As I contemplate whether or not I should numb the soles of my feet—the disadvantage would be that I might be a bit clumsier, but at least they wouldn't hurt anymore—I run across another member of the Order.

Damn, is it _that_ easy to tell our disguised robes apart from the real ones? I really hope that it's just because I already know there's a difference.

He fires a hex at me, and I block it. I know his voice.

"Colin, it's me," I hiss, lifting the fake mask briefly.

"Hermione? Blimey, I thought I was done for," he mutters.

"You're late—hurry up and get to your station," I urge him.

He scurries away.

Colin's in the fourth and final group of Order members coming in. After the last five Death Eaters are subdued, Hogwarts will be ours. In two hours, Harry's group will have finished their shift, and they will be waiting to subdue their replacements. When the shift for Colin's group is over, we'll have captured the last twenty Death Eaters.

I can't believe how close to success we are. This seems almost too good to be true.

I round the corner and see the Fat Lady's portrait. Oh, all the memories… the Fat Lady frowns when she sees me—I guess she assumes that I'm just a Death Eater. I consider revealing myself to her, but it's just safer if I don't do so until this is all over.

I look out the window at the end of the hall and take in the view. As my eyes rest on the Forbidden Forest, I think of Draco. I hope he's all right.

He left without saying goodbye. Just remembering how it was to wake up without him there stings me.

And he didn't even reply to my taunt. I know that he's probably busy keeping his cover, but can't he spare a second to send me a message and let me know that he's all right? That he's _alive?_ I'd been so sure that he'd respond when I called him an arse…

* * *

About ten hours later, I'm sitting on my bed in the dorm room that I'd lived in for six years. I haven't seen Lavender or Parvati for such a long time. Then again, I haven't seen Fay or Clarisse, either.

I heard that Lavender was forced by her parents to join them in hiding right after the Battle of Hogwarts. After being so severely injured by Fenrir Greyback, I wouldn't have blamed her for never wanting to fight a battle again.

I'd thought that Parvati was killed, but apparently Draco was able to save her and her family. A small smile forms on my lips as I remember how shocked I'd been upon hearing of what Draco had done for the Patil family. I hope they're doing all right in India.

After taking Hogwarts, all of us congregated in the Great Hall for a celebratory brunch. The house-elves returned to make the meal at McGonagall's command—as she was Deputy Headmistress, she had the authority to summon them back.

There were no casualties on either side. We've rounded up sixty Death Eaters and locked them all in the dungeons for later questioning. And now we have sixty extra wands, distributed among the members of the Order. You never know when you could be Disarmed during a duel, and having an extra wand could save your life.

A knock on the door rouses me from my thoughts, and Ginny enters.

"Harry was looking for you. He started coming up the steps—idiot forgot that the stairs would turn into a slide if boys tried to come up here," she says.

I laugh. It sounds like something that might happen to Harry.

"Do you know what he wants?"

Ginny sighs. "McGonagall wants to talk to you, Harry and Ron. Not me, of course."

"Sorry, Ginny," I say. I know that she wants to be more involved—she hates being treated like a child.

"Oh, it's fine," she says. "I was going to ask to stay with you, but I'm guessing that you three are going to be leaving again soon. I'll just stay with Katie and Angelina."

I nod, and we exit the room. She heads upstairs for the elder girls' room, and I walk down to meet Harry.

"What do you think McGonagall wants from us?" Ron asks, joining us as we walk through the portrait hole.

"Why don't we just wait until we see her?" I say.

Exiting through the portrait hole and walking down these halls with Harry and Ron beside me is such a familiar feeling, and nostalgia begins to set in. I wish I could rewind and go back to those days, when we could truly feel safe at Hogwarts because of Dumbledore's presence.

The walk to the Headmaster's office is short, and McGonagall is standing in front of the stone gargoyle when we arrive. She takes us up into the familiar office and shuts the door behind us.

"First things first," she says, "we should see to it that the Horcrux is destroyed. Potter, since you speak Parseltongue, we'll need you to retrieve a basilisk fang from the Chamber of Secrets."

Harry nods. "I can do that now."

"Just a moment—I did have something else to tell you."

We wait silently for her to continue.

"We've set up wards around the grounds to make it safe. We kept the same boundaries that we used to have, but we've added a safety measure. Anyone with a Dark Mark will not be able to cross. If a Death Eater attempts to pass through the boundary, he will be given a nice shock and then thrown out. Warn Mr. Malfoy not to come here."

I feel sorry for him. I'm sure that Draco liked Hogwarts a lot, and it'll be disappointing to him to find that we've successfully taken over Hogwarts with his help, only to put up a barrier that he won't be able to pass through.

"We'll do that," Harry says.

"Good. Now… well Mr. Potter, we are now in the open. I think it would be safer for you to return to my home, because it is still under the protection of the Fidelius Charm."

"I'm not going to _hide_—" Harry begins to protest.

"We need you to stay safe. The prophecy said that you would have to be the one to kill him. We can't afford to lose you out of carelessness. You can take Weasley, Granger, and perhaps Zabini as well."

"The rest of us aren't all that important," Ron says. "We shouldn't have to hide."

"Yes, but Potter shouldn't be left alone. On second thought, perhaps you should go to Mr. Malfoy's private dwelling. I don't want you to be traveling unless it is absolutely necessary. If Mr. Malfoy has information, then you will already be there, waiting."

"I wanted to be here to interrogate the prisoners," Ron says. "I saw Crabbe and Goyle, and—"

"Mr. Weasley, this is no time to be thinking about pranking our prisoners."

Ron bites back a protest. "Sorry, Professor."

Harry sighs. "After we destroy the dagger, we'll go."

"Where's Shacklebolt?" I ask.

McGonagall hesitates for a moment, then says, "Well, I see no point in keeping this a secret from you. Voldemort has left England."

Harry frowns. "Where is he?"

"We do not know for certain, but our sources say that he's in Russia. There have been a series of attacks on Muggle settlements for several nights in the past week. Kingsley has gone to see what he can do to rally our Russian allies to fight back. Their Ministry wasn't infiltrated when Kingsley was last there, so we still have some hope that they will join us."

"But the chances can't be good, can they?" Ron says. "I mean, look at what happened to _our_ Ministry."

"The effects are beginning to be felt around the world. And after the first war, I'm sure that the rest of the world will have learned at least that we have to band together in this time of need."

"I want to do something," Harry says. "I want to face him—to kill him. I don't care if he still has Horcruxes. If we kill him, the Death Eaters will be disorganized, and it'll be much easier for us to find Horcruxes, if there are any more."

"After what happened the last time Voldemort fell, don't you think he'd take precautionary measures this time?" I point out.

"Voldemort thinks he's invincible. He—"

"He's arrogant, not _stupid_," I say.

"Miss Granger is correct," McGonagall says.

"But with Voldemort out of the way, even if the Death Eaters stick around, they'll be weaker than they are while he's here, won't they?" Ron argues.

"Perhaps," McGonagall concedes. "But for now, we will try to control the situation abroad. Don't spread the news—let the others celebrate our victory here."

"But they deserve to know," Harry says.

"Yes, and they _will_ know. But our morale is low enough as it is, and I want to make the most of this success before breaking the bad news."

"Well… I guess we should go get ourselves some fangs, then," Harry says.

"Yes—be careful," McGonagall cautions.

"We will," I say.

The three of us leave the office together and head down toward the second floor.

"Do you think he's really gone to Russia?" Ron asks.

"It's not impossible," I say.

I wonder if Draco's with Voldemort right now—he did say that he sees Voldemort on a "daily basis". He could have been exaggerating, but if he _is_ with Voldemort, I hope he's taking care of himself.

Then I remember that McGonagall mentioned bringing Blaise with us.

"Harry, do you have the Marauder's Map with you?" I ask. "I want to find Blaise."

"Is he really coming with us?" Ron asks, sounding reluctant.

Harry produces a blank piece of parchment and passes it to me. "Yes, Blaise is coming," he says. "He's one of us."

Ron groans and follows Harry down the hall. I tap my wand to the parchment.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

It takes me a moment to find Blaise, but I eventually locate his name only a floor below me. I head toward the nearest staircase and notice that he happens to be moving toward it as well. I meet him halfway up the steps.

"Oh, Hermione," he says, surprised. "I was about to go looking for you."

"We're going back to Malfoy's," I tell him.

"Why?"

"McGonagall said that she wanted us to avoid moving around as much as possible, and since I'm still Malfoy's contact, it'd be best for me to stay where he'll be able to meet us. And Harry needs to stay safe."

Blaise nods. "All right, then. Where are Harry and Weasley?"

"They went to take care of the dagger," I say.

As we make our way toward the girls' bathroom on the second floor, I fill him in on what McGonagall told us about Voldemort's appearance in Russia.

"I stayed in Russia for a few years as a kid, actually," Blaise says.

I look at him, surprised.

"Yeah, my third stepfather had some business there," he adds. "The discrimination against Muggle-borns wasn't very strong. There was more of a divide based on social class than anything else. We never talked to the poor kids, and they never talked to us."

"Then there's a better chance that they'll choose not to support Voldemort on his quest against Muggles."

"Probably. But I don't know. I haven't been there since I was eight, so you can't really take my word for it. These things change."

When we reach the bathroom, I see the gaping hole that leads down into the Chamber.

"Should we go down there?" Blaise asks.

"I'm sure they'll be right up," I reply.

"All right, then." He leans against a bathroom stall. "Have you heard from Draco since he left?"

I shake my head. "Nothing."

Maybe Blaise is as worried about Draco as I am—they're best friends, after all. He seems completely unconcerned, but I already know he's pretty good at masking his feelings—seems to be a Slytherin trait.

"If the four of us are going back to Draco's, then isn't Ginny coming too?" he asks.

"That'll depend on Harry," I reply.

"Oh. She's not going to like that when she hears," Blaise says.

"I know."

I wonder if Ginny's said anything about what she saw between me and Draco just over a week ago. But since none of the guys have approached me about it, I'm pretty sure that she's kept her mouth shut.

And I'm thankful—I really don't want to deal with Ron's reaction. It's bad enough when he thinks that I might be interested in Blaise. I'm positive that it'll be exponentially worse if he finds out that I care very much about Draco, that I actually really like him.

God, I miss him so much. I feel like it'd be so much easier for me if he'd just spent an extra minute with me before leaving, if he'd said something, or kissed me goodbye…

"What are you thinking about?" Blaise asks.

I shake my head, pushing those thoughts away. "I just want this war to be over," I lie. "I want Voldemort to die and the Death Eaters to vanish. I guess I'm in a whiny mood."

He chuckles. "Hermione Granger, in a whiny mood. Now that's something you don't see often."

"It was a Horcrux, all right," I hear from the entrance to the Chamber.

I move over to give Harry a hand, and Blaise helps to hoist Ron out. When Harry and Ron are both on level ground, the Chamber closes up again, and Harry holds up the dagger, which is covered in a black substance that's about the same consistency as blood.

"We brought a fang up with us," Ron says, holding it up. "Do you have something safe to put it in?"

I conjure a wooden, rectangular container. "We can store it in here, for now," I say. "It'll probably be a good idea to get something sturdier to make sure the fang can't stab through."

Ron places the fang inside the box, and I close it and tuck it into my beaded handbag.

"Harry, Hermione filled me in," Blaise says. "Do you think we should bring Ginny along?"

"We shouldn't," Ron says before Harry can reply. "You saw how worried my mum got last time when we explained that she'd be staying with us at Malfoy's."

"All right, we'll let her stay here," Harry says. "Let's give the dagger to McGonagall before we leave."

"Shouldn't you at least say goodbye?" I suggest.

"Nah," Harry says. "She'll just protest and try to get us to take her along. It'll be easier to leave without saying anything."

I bite back the words that want to burst out of my mouth. Harry doesn't know how it feels to be left behind with no explanation. If he knew, he wouldn't be doing that to Ginny. But I guess it isn't the first time he's done it to her, and at this point, she might expect or even be used to it.

I don't think that I could ever get used to the uncomfortable, bitter feeling that's been following me around ever since Draco left.

I resist the urge to reach for the charm around my neck. The boys all know about it now, so the gesture would make it way too easy for them to guess what—or rather, _whom_—is on my mind.

Please, Draco, come home soon.

* * *

**Author's Note:** All right guys, I have a question for you. Did you notice that the spot where Hermione chooses to pause during her patrol in this chapter (the part where she looks out the window and thinks of Draco) is the exact spot where Draco is located when we first see him in this story? Please review if you did (even if it's just to say "Yes, I noticed"), because I'm so curious to see how many people remembered that little tidbit from the beginning. Oh, and it'd be lovely if you were honest about it :P


	60. Chapter 60 H

**Author's Note:** This chapter was rather hard for me to write.

**EDIT:** Just in case this wasn't clear (no one's really brought it up, but upon rereading, I wasn't sure how clear this would be for anyone who didn't live in my head), the events of this day are occurring a few days after they (Harry, Ron, Hermione and Blaise) left Hogwarts. This doesn't directly follow from the previous chapter.

**Chapter 60**

I enter the living room from Draco's bedroom and find that Blaise and Harry are already sitting on the couch, each with a book in his lap.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty's up," Harry says.

"Sleeping who?"

"She's a character from a Muggle story," I tell Blaise.

"Oh, figures."

"What time is it?" I ask, turning to look at the clock.

It's half past ten—I suppose it _is_ a bit later than I usually get up. But I'd just been having the sweetest dream, and I didn't want it to end. It may have had a bit to do with a certain grey-eyed blond.

"Naree says there's not much else on Dark magic in the Manor library," Harry says.

I frown. "I highly doubt that," I say as I take a seat between them on the couch. "The Manor _has_ to have more than the references he's given us so far. I'll ask him myself. Technically, he's allowed to lie to you two, because Malfoy only told him to take orders from me."

"Good point," Harry says.

I snatch my book from the coffee table and lean back to keep reading from the place that I'd stopped at last night. Horcruxes were mentioned several times already in this book, but there was nothing that we didn't already know. The chapter that I'm currently reading is describing Inferi. Gruesome creatures, they are. I can't believe that anyone would actually _want_ to create them.

Then the door to the kitchen opens, and Ron emerges with a cup of tea. I return my attention to the page, but then Blaise elbows me, and I look up to see that Ron's standing right across the coffee table from me.

"I made you a cup of tea, Hermione," he says.

I stare at him for a moment. How am I supposed to—where is this coming from?

"Thanks, Ron," I say, smiling awkwardly as I lean forward to take the cup from him.

His cheeks flush, and I suddenly want to laugh.

"Where's _my_ cup of tea, Ron?" Harry asks from beside me.

That does it for me, and apparently Blaise as well—we burst into laughter simultaneously, and Ron's face turns even redder. I quickly set the cup down on the coffee table so that it won't spill onto the book and attempt to control my laughter.

"Yes, how could you only make one cup of tea when you knew there were three of us out here?" Blaise adds, smiling innocently, his mirth under control for the moment.

Ron grumbles something that I can't make out before sitting down in his red armchair.

Blaise looks at the cup that I just put down. "Well, if you're not going to drink it, mind if I have a sip?"

"I made it for Hermione," Ron blurts before I can reply.

"Oh Ron, don't be ridiculous. It's just a cup of tea," I say.

Harry laughs. "Better not drink it, Blaise. I think this is supposed to be a meaningful gesture, the first time Ron's made something for someone else—you'll just ruin it."

Ron opens up a large volume and hides his face behind it. "Shove it, Harry," he says.

Blaise grins. "It's all right. I'm perfectly capable of getting myself a cup of tea. Don't need any favors from a besotted weasel. Besides, knowing our history, if he brought _me_ something, he'd probably be trying to poison me."

I glance at Ron, but his face is still hidden, and I'm sure that he's pretending to be deaf.

"Want any, Harry?" Blaise asks, getting to his feet and heading toward the kitchen.

Harry shakes his head. "Nope, I'm all right."

"You sure? I won't poison you, I promise."

"Just go get your drink," Harry says, waving his hand dismissively.

The kitchen door swings shut behind Blaise, and I turn my attention back to the book.

A few minutes later, I frown. "Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Did Malfoy stop by?"

He turns to look at me curiously. "When? You've been here this whole time, haven't you?"

"Before I woke up this morning, I meant."

"No, he was never here."

"Odd. I could have sworn…" my voice fades away before I can finish the thought—I'm not about to admit to Harry that I just _imagined_ Draco's scent.

Do I really miss him _that_ much? This can't be a good sign. Maybe his scent is on one of the books that Naree brought by for Harry and Blaise this morning…

"You could have sworn…?" Harry asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing," I mutter, shaking my head.

I lean forward to pick up the tea and take a sip, studiously avoiding Harry's eyes. When I put the cup back on the table, he's still staring at me, but I just look back down at my book. If I keep ignoring him, maybe he'll just give up.

"Hermione?" he prods almost a full minute later.

"It's nothing," I repeat, shaking my head.

Then Blaise emerges from the kitchen with a giant mug of something foul-smelling.

"What _is_ that?" Harry asks, pinching his nose as Blaise settles on the couch beside me.

"Be grateful you're not sitting right next to him," I say, leaning away.

Blaise laughs. "This is supposed to help us stay focused and alert."

"It's morning, Blaise. We're awake and alert already," Harry says.

"And I am _not_ drinking that," I add.

"It's not for drinking. The smell is what's important," he says. "I thought you'd know what this was the second you smelled it, Hermione."

I frown, wrinkling my nose. "Gurdyroots?"

His grin widens.

"That is disgusting," Harry says, getting to his feet. "Aw hell, I'm reading in the room."

I laugh as he hurries out of the room and slams the door shut.

"I should throw a gurdyroot in there just to piss him off," Blaise says. "What do you think?"

"Oh, leave him alone," I say. "That smell really is awful."

He laughs. "Oh come on, it's just something you get used to," he says. Looking up at Ron, he adds, "See, Weasley doesn't mind it so much. Your mum probably made this to make you focus when you were at home, didn't she?"

Ron peers over his book and glowers at Blaise. "I'd rather not think about that. She made us _drink_ that foul… concoction."

Blaise laughs at this.

God, I can't stand the smell. It's like I'm sitting in the middle of an industrial compost heap! I put down my book and down the cup of tea, scalding my tongue in the process.

"I'll go get myself some more tea," I say, getting to my feet quickly.

I hear Blaise laughing as I close the door to the kitchen. It's a miracle that this room doesn't smell worse, knowing what Blaise was just making in here. But it seems he cleaned everything up and cast a charm to rid the kitchen of the smell.

I let out a sigh of relief and get a glass of water to sooth my burned tongue.

Then the kitchen door opens, and I turn to see Ron entering. His eyes have never looked so bright before. Strange… I can't seem to look away.

I smile at him. "Hi."

He doesn't reply, only starts walking toward me. For some inexplicable reason, I begin to feel nervous, and I want to leave the room. I put the glass of water down and walk toward the door.

As I pass by him, he grabs my arm, and I pause. He pulls on my arm gently, turning me to face him. His hands run up my arms, and my eyes flit up to meet his. They're a brilliant shade of sapphire blue, sparkling at me.

"I love you, Hermione," he murmurs.

I smile.

He leans down and presses his lips to mine.

I stiffen, surprised. But once the initial shock passes through me, I feel a strange sense of satisfaction. His arms wrap around me to pull me closer, and I don't resist.

Then the kitchen door swings open.

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa!_ Stop that right now."

Ron steps back, and I glance to the side to see Blaise standing in the doorway. The surprised look on his face quickly fades to concern as he meets my eyes. Then I look back at Ron. What just happened?

"What do you want, Zabini?" Ron says.

Blaise's eyes narrow. "Can I talk to you for a minute, Weasley?"

"What can you have to say to me that you can't say in front of Hermione?" Ron responds.

I look over at Blaise to see what he'll say to that, but he only watches me with an inscrutable expression. What's wrong with him? Then, without another word, he leaves the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

I frown. "Ron… maybe you should figure out what he was going to tell you," I say. "I don't have a good feeling about this."

He smiles at me. "I don't care what he wants to say, as long as I have you here," he says.

For some reason, this statement makes me feel extremely happy, and whatever it was that I was just worrying about suddenly doesn't seem so important anymore.

Ron's happy because of me.

Wait, why… why am I reacting this way? I think back—I _didn't_ like Ron. I never thought his eyes were brilliant blue, did I? They always looked rather large and… dull… didn't they?

But when I look back up into his eyes, I only see a beautiful, deep shade of blue, blue like the ocean. I was so wrong before.

He leans down to kiss me again, and I lift my arms to put them around his neck.

* * *

"I've missed this, you know," Ron says, sitting down on the couch.

I take a seat beside him. "Missed what?"

"Just sitting down, alone, with you," he replies.

"Me, too," I say.

Then I frown. Did I really? I suppose so… I look at the door to the boys' room—Harry and Blaise went in right after dinner, saying that they wanted to read in the room. I wonder if it was because they're uncomfortable because of Ron and me…

Thankfully, the horrible smell of gurdyroot is gone. I wonder what Blaise did with that mixture from this morning.

Then Ron's speaking again. "I thought so much about what it would be like to kiss you again, to hold you in my arms again…"

I smile. "Did it live up to your expectations?"

"Hermione, you really have no clue how much I love you," he says. "It was so much better than I thought it would be, so much better than I remembered."

"Or maybe I just learned how to kiss," I say.

Ron frowns, and I'm suddenly overwhelmed by a surge of regret and the need to say—

"I'm sorry."

The words tumble out of my mouth without my permission, but I do feel sorry.

He looks perplexed. "Sorry? About what?"

"I… don't know," I say.

The guilty feeling seems to have vanished as quickly as it came. Is there something wrong with me?

But what could possibly be wrong with me? I'm fine.

I meet Ron's eyes again and seem to get sucked in. Ron looks pleased by the attention I'm giving him, so I continue to look at him. He lifts a hand to touch my cheek.

Before his fingers come into contact with my face, the fireplace sparks into life, and I turn to see Ginny's head floating in the flames.

"Hey Ron, Hermione," she says, frowning. "Where are Harry and Zabini?"

"The other room," Ron says. "I'll get them."

He gets to his feet and walks toward the door to the boys' room.

I chance a glance at Ginny and see that she's looking at me with an odd expression. What's wrong with her? I consider asking her, but I feel that it'd be a better idea to save this for a time when it's just the two of us—I know that look on her face, and it can't mean anything good.

"Ginny, hey," I hear Harry say.

He steps over to the fireplace and extends his hand into the flames to grasp hers.

"I miss you," he says softly.

"I miss you, too," Ginny replies.

"Yes, this is all very touching," Blaise says coolly. "What's this visit about?"

"Oh, I really only need Ron," Ginny says as Harry pulls his hand back out of the fireplace and backs up to stand by Blaise. "Mum asked me to check and make sure you lot were all still alive."

"What do they need me for?" Ron asks.

"Some interrogations, I think," Ginny replies. "Anyway, just come on, Ron."

I feel some disappointment that Ron's going to be leaving.

"Can I have a second alone with Hermione, first?" Ron says, pulling me to my feet and leading me to the boys' room.

Once inside, he shuts the door and casts the Muffling Charm.

"I think Harry and Blaise don't want us to be together," he mutters urgently.

"Why wouldn't—"

"Just don't listen to them, all right? They want to drive us apart."

I blink a few times, trying to comprehend his train of thought. "But Ron, we broke up."

Suddenly he leans forward and kisses me roughly, pulling me into his arms. Again, I feel that strange sense of satisfaction, like there's nothing else that can bring me peace.

"Don't you want to be together again?" he whispers against my lips.

"Yes," I whisper without thinking.

"Then we can get back together."

Craving that sensation again, I give him another quick kiss.

"I really have to go. But just… don't listen to them, Hermione. I'll be back soon—I promise."

With that, we exit the room. Harry and Ginny are exchanging goodbyes, holding hands again. Blaise takes a few steps toward us.

"Well, see you, Weasley," he says. "Can't say that I'll miss you."

"Likewise, Zabini," Ron replies. "Bye, Harry, Hermione."

Then he steps into the flames, and a strong sense of abandonment washes over me. What is _wrong_ with me?

Ginny's face reappears in the flames. "Bye!" she calls out to us.

"Bye," Harry says.

Distracted by this strange, desolate feeling in my chest, I move over to the couch and take a seat, picking my book up robotically.

"Harry, do you want me to grab your book?" Blaise offers. "I'm about to go get mine out of the room."

"Sure," Harry replies, taking Ron's armchair.

I keep my eyes on the pages of my book, but I can't stop thinking about the fact that Ron's gone, and I don't know when he'll be back. And I think Harry's staring at me.

When I glance up from the book, he quickly averts his eyes.

Yes, he was staring.

I frown at the words on the page. What if Ron's right? What if Harry and Blaise really _are_ plotting against us?

Blaise reemerges from their room with two books in his hands and tosses Harry's book at him. Harry quickly flicks his wand and uses a Hover Charm to keep the giant volume levitating in the air.

"Oi! You could've bashed my head in!" he exclaims.

"You wouldn't be a very good wizard then, would you?" Blaise replies with a grin, sitting beside me.

When he glances in my direction, I notice that there's something different about the way he's looking at me. He seems to be wary, guarded. His eyes aren't as playful as they usually are.

That's it. Ron's right.

Oh, god. This can't be good. I don't even know when Ron will be back to help me. Maybe I should…

Draco. Right, Draco! He cares about me. If I need his help, I'm sure he'll help me. He's been so reliable in the past even when I didn't ask for his help. Of course.

I get to my feet. "I'm actually developing a bit of a headache, so I think I'll just turn in early," I say.

"But you got slept in today, Hermione. Are you all right?" Blaise asks.

"Yes, I'm fine. I just have a bit of a headache. I'm sure a good night's sleep will fix it," I reply as I head over to Draco's room.

I close the door behind me and move to sit down on the bed. I point my wand at the door and lock it before fisting my hand around the charm—I don't want Harry or Blaise to know that I'm going to Draco for help.

A few minutes later, there's still no response from the charm, and I'm starting to worry. What if he can't come? What'll I do about Harry and Blaise?

The response doesn't come until almost an hour later, and it's only one word: _Tomorrow._

* * *

**Author's Note:** Eek. I'm slightly scared to read your reviews. But keep them coming!

I'll try to post again soon. I've hit a bit of writer's block with the scene that I'm working on, and it doesn't help that I don't have much time to just sit down and write. School starts on Thursday… ew.


	61. Chapter 61 D

**Author's Note:** So, school starts tomorrow. And I'm still having some trouble with the new material. I'll probably have to slow down my posts to about one a week… maybe two a week. Sorry about that!

**Chapter 61**

If I still had a soul when I left Britain, what was left of it is most certainly gone, now.

I hardly remember the last time I felt anything.

I've numbed my emotions, locked away my compassion, frozen my heart.

There's a special place in hell reserved for people who did the things I did. There will be no redemption. No forgiveness. Pain and suffering is all that I'll get, and it's all that I deserve.

The serpent charm burns me, and reality seems to hit me piercingly.

I feel.

But I can't slow down or stop. I follow Voldemort up to the cliff and stand at the edge.

"Again," he hisses.

I take a deep breath and leap off. As I plunge toward the rocky crags below, I concentrate furiously on weightlessness. Talk about doing the fucking impossible.

The charm burns against my chest again, and I know that this time won't be successful either.

_Destination, determination, deliberation._

Come on. I can do this.

_Destination. Determination. Deliberation_.

Then the constricting sensation of Apparition grips me, and I appear safely in the forest, some twenty yards away from the edge of the cliff.

I move toward the edge again, only to find that Voldemort isn't there anymore. Where…?

"I'm disappointed," he says from behind me.

I'm hardly surprised by him anymore. I used to jump whenever he did that.

"It didn't take you nearly as long to learn wandless Apparition," he continues. "Where has all of your focus gone?"

"I apologize, My Lord."

"Not good enough," he hisses. "Again."

I step to the edge yet again and focus with all my might on a feather, imagining the way it floats on the wind.

When that image is solid in my mind, I step off the edge. For what feels like the hundredth time, I plummet rapidly toward the ground.

My descent slows ever so slightly, and for a second, I glimpse triumph.

But that bit of excitement distracts me, and upon losing concentration, I continue in free fall. I try to focus on Disapparating, but I find that I don't have enough strength.

With a jolt, I realize that I can't stop my fall.

So this is how I'm going to die.

Just as I'm about to come into contact with the rocks, a cold hand wraps around my forearm, and I appear in that same cluster of trees again.

"We will continue tomorrow," Voldemort says.

Without explaining, or _returning my wand_, he dissolves into a cloud of black smoke and disappears.

Fucking hell.

I should probably be more shaken by my near-death experience, but it's happened so often in the past week and a half that I can't seem to feel any urgency anymore. All these brushes with death are going to make me reckless, and one of these days, I'm going to go too far. I just know it.

I tiredly extract a tent and some supplies from my pouch and set up.

Sitting on my cot a few minutes later, I remember that Granger had tried to contact me. I pull out the charm and see a single word on the back: _Help_.

I honestly thought that I would never feel again, that I was too far gone. But just the sight of those four small letters has my heart hammering in my chest. What if she's in trouble?

I tuck the charm beneath my shirt again.

No, she can't be in danger. Not unless she's left my home. I'm the only Secret Keeper. No one can reveal the location. No outsiders can discover it, not to mention get inside.

"Naree!"

The house-elf is at my side in an instant, and I can't help but marvel at the magic of house-elves—he can travel from Britain to Russia in one Apparition, as long as I summon him.

"Master," he says, eyes beginning to water as he looks at me.

Fuck, I must look dreadful if he's looking at me like that.

"Naree has missed Master very much," he sniffs.

"How is everything at home?" I ask.

"All is as usual. Miss Bella is horrible to Naree when Master isn't there. Horrible."

"I see. And the other house-elves?"

Naree nods, understanding my question—I would never ask about the others, so he knows that I'm asking about the members of the Order.

"Still the same," he reports. Then he adds for safe measure, "Naree never gets any respect."

"It's all right. I'll have a talk with them when I get back," I reply. "Keep an eye on them for me. Especially her."

Naree nods. "Yes, Master."

"Go on, now."

Naree disappears with a crack.

"Especially whom?"

Of course, he's back. "Lerrin."

"Bellatrix's house-elf?"

"Yes. She's Naree's mother. Aunt Bella's been abusing her more often lately. I suspect that she's waiting for a chance to leave the Manor," I fib.

"Very attentive, you are," Voldemort says quietly.

"I can't afford to miss any details," I reply readily.

"I have business to attend to tomorrow, but I will not be needing you. You may return to England."

"I thought you said Lenovsky wanted to—"

"I do not trust him. In all likelihood, as soon as he discovers your identity, he will try to kill you. He does not care for the idea of taking commands from a child like yourself."

If anyone else had called me a child, I'd be furious. But it's hard to be furious with someone who holds my life in his hands.

"Very well," I say. "I'll return home tonight, if you have no more use for me."

Voldemort nods and passes back my wand. Oh, how I've missed the feeling of holding my wand. Being reunited with it is like reattaching part of my arm that's been painfully missing for an extended length of time.

"Travel in short distances. It will not do for you to hurt yourself while attempting to do something as banal as Apparition," Voldemort says.

I nod my head and Disapparate.

I appear in a small town several hundred kilometers away.

Did Voldemort just hint at me to take care of myself? Bloody hell.

* * *

Traveling back home from Russia takes just over forty minutes for me—I Apparated smaller distances because that even though I had my wand, I was mentally and physically exhausted, and clearheaded concentration is key to Apparition, with or without a wand.

When I enter the Manor, I know from the brightness that there must be guests over. It's late evening, so perhaps Mother and Father are hosting a dinner party.

As I head for the stairs, hoping to escape to bed unnoticed, I hear Mother's voice.

"Draco! You're home!"

Aw, fuck. If I'm pressured into attending the dinner, I'm going to kill someone.

I turn around and see that Mother is wearing a set of her nicest dress robes. She looks beautiful.

"Hello, Mother. How did you know I was back?" I ask.

She pulls me into a hug. "Ansol said he saw you approaching the house," she replies. "Come."

Damn it.

I follow Mother into the dining hall and see that tonight's guests are the four Greengrasses, as well as Crabbe and Goyle's parents.

I wonder where Greg and Vince are. Blaise mentioned that they would be patrolling Hogwarts…

Aw hell, the two bumbling idiots might even have been captured, if the Order carried out the plan to retake Hogwarts. I'll have to find out what happened. Maybe I'll ask Aunt Bella later—she isn't at the table, to my surprise.

"Draco, join us," Father says from the head of the table.

"I'm pretty tired from my trip back—maybe next time?" I say.

Father purses his lips, and I can sense that he's about to tell me to sit down anyway.

"Mr. Malfoy, maybe it would be better to let Draco rest," Daphne says. She sends a small smile in my direction. "He looks really tired."

"Yes, Draco looks dreadfully pale," Mrs. Greengrass says, echoing her daughter's sentiment. "I do think he should be allowed to rest."

Father nods. "Very well. Off to your quarters then, Draco."

I nod curtly. "Good night, everyone."

I leave the dining room and make my way up to my bedroom, where I shut the door and immediately start stripping down for a shower. I don't care how effective Scouring Charms are. I just don't _feel_ clean unless I've had a shower. And I haven't had that luxury for over a week.

I enjoy the feeling of the hot water running over me, relaxing me.

I close my eyes, and a number of images begin to clutter my mind. My eyes pop open again.

_No_—I don't want to think about it. I'm not going to think about it. I was doing fine before. I'll close it off. I don't have to feel this pain.

I'm not going to think about it.

Then I hear the bathroom door opening and am thankful for choosing to put in a shower curtain.

"Draco?"

That's Astoria's voice. What the _fuck?_ I'm showering! This is harassment, damn it.

"What do you want, Astoria?"

"I just wanted to keep you company," she says.

"While I'm _showering?_ Get out!"

"If you really wanted to keep me out, you would have locked the door."

"Any person with some sense of decency wouldn't go into a bathroom when someone else was clearly using the shower," I say. "Besides, this is my _private_ bathroom. I hardly thought it necessary to lock my own door."

"Well, since I'm already here—"

"I'm not interested."

"But—"

"Naree!"

A loud crack signals Naree's arrival in the bathroom.

"Escort Miss Greengrass downstairs," I say. "She seems to have lost her way."

"Why do you have to be so cold to me?" Astoria says.

"You clearly don't understand me when I speak to you in plain English, so I have to show you through my actions. I will _not_ marry you," I reply. Then I bark, "Naree, I gave you an order!"

"Yes, Master!" he squeaks.

"I'm not going," Astoria says.

"You don't want to make me angry, Astoria," I say through gritted teeth. "I'm already tired. I don't want to have to put up with you right now."

It's silent for a moment.

Then I hear Naree say tentatively, "Miss?"

Suddenly there's loud sobbing, followed by rapid footsteps.

"Naree thinks that Miss Greengrass knows where she is going," Naree observes, and I can tell from his tone of voice that he's amused.

"She probably does," I say. "Thanks, Naree. You can go, now."

"Yes, Master."

Another loud crack signals his departure.

I sigh.

I didn't mean to make the girl _cry_. But what was I supposed to do? Now she'll probably complain to her father, who'll complain to my father, who will naturally come to harass me about it. I hate this.

Then I glance down at the charm around my neck and realize that Granger asked for my help.

I don't even know when I'll be free, but I certainly don't want to go right now. I haven't had a decent amount of sleep in the entire time that I've been with Voldemort—it's been blocks of two or three hours at a time. Apparently, the Dark Lord doesn't need to sleep. Handy.

I close my fist around the charm and sigh.

If this were about anything urgent, she probably would have tried me again. I'm sure it can wait. Tomorrow. I'll be there sometime tomorrow.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Before any of you start yelling at me about the flying thing, let me just tell you that I did take the time to look up flying in the Harry Potter universe. I found that magical law states that "a wizard can only fly using a vehicle, which itself can only have a flying charm". I also learned that Voldemort figured out a way to fly without a vehicle, but I couldn't find anything about his specific method apart from the fact that "some form of magical assistance" is needed.

However, we do know that this method can be taught, because Voldemort supposedly taught Snape how to fly using the same method. Because I am not the best at coming up with spells/magic, I decided to keep it simple and just say that he uses his will to fly (kind of like Apparition, right?). Hope you guys don't have too big a problem with that.

I'll try to put up the next chapter within the week. Hang in there, peeps!


	62. Chapter 62 H

**Author's Note:** Wow, it feels like such a long time since I last posted, and it's only been three (maybe four?) days. Sorry about the wait, though! I have a disproportionate amount of homework to do. I've only had two days of class! Ridiculous :/

Let's play "Recognize These Lyrics?" again! Because last time was rather fun ;)

"Let me stay where the wind will whisper to me, where the raindrops, as they're falling, tell a story."

Ahh, it's such a beautiful song. Beautiful voice, too. Anyway, here's the next chapter.

**Chapter 62**

"Seriously, Blaise. What happened?"

"Hermione and I were never together," I hear Blaise reply through the door. "You know I'm a joker, don't you?"

I'm surprised that they're only just talking about this. I was sure that they would have already discussed it by now.

"Yeah, but you joke about it for a reason, don't you?" Harry says.

"Sure. What of it?"

"I don't know. I just… I was sure you'd have something to say about how she acted with Ron yesterday."

"Well, I wasn't exactly planning on bringing it up," Blaise says.

He wasn't? That's surprising.

"What do _you_ think of it?" he asks Harry.

"Well, I'll say that it was abrupt… and very unexpected," Harry responds.

"You know her as well as I do. It's completely unlike her."

"Yes, but she seemed really happy. I haven't seen her smile like that for… for a very long time."

"She's definitely been in a better mood," Blaise agrees.

I have to admit that I was in a cheery mood today. For what reason, I have no idea. I couldn't really stop smiling whenever I thought of Ron, and it happened really often. Plus, I didn't want them to think that I suspected them of anything.

"But I get this feeling that it's not for real," Blaise continues. "You must have noticed too, if you decided to bring it up."

"It _is_ very unlike her," Harry says. "But what are we supposed to do about it? We're all in a very stressful situation. I can understand if she's trying to find a way to deal with it."

"I doubt that's what this is. She's handled it just fine for two years."

"Then what do you think it is?"

There's a long pause, and then Blaise says, "I don't know."

What does he think is wrong with me? I doubt he's telling the truth when he says he doesn't know.

"Should we talk to her about it?" Harry asks.

"I wouldn't be sure what to say to her. I think it'd be a better idea to talk to Ron when he gets back."

Then I push the door open to see the boys seated on their beds, facing each other. Harry's mouth is open, about to respond, and Blaise is looking at the door, eyebrows raised. I clearly surprised them.

"I heard you two," I say.

"I… thought you'd gone to bed, Hermione," Harry says quietly.

Well, at least they're not trying to deny it. "Obviously not. I woke up about twenty minutes ago, and I was reading."

"You said you heard us," Blaise says. "What did you hear?"

"I heard that you disapprove of Ron and me."

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry says.

"If you two have a problem, you should come to me instead of talking behind my back like this," I tell them, frowning. Maybe being straightforward with them will solve everything. After all, Draco didn't show up today like he said he would, so I can't necessarily count on him.

"We didn't mean to upset you," Blaise says.

"Upset? No, I'm not upset."

Blaise raises an eyebrow at me. "You certainly _look_ upset."

"I'm not upset. I just don't like that you two are talking about Ron and me like there's something wrong with us."

"Don't you think you're overreacting a bit?" Harry asks. "Blaise and I are only discussing it because we're worried about you."

"If this is how you guys express worry for me, I'd rather you didn't worry at all."

"It's not like we _want_ to worry, Hermione. Do you think we have nothing better to do?" Blaise says.

I frown. Why _am_ I so angry? Harry's right—they're talking about me because they do care. Surely, it shouldn't piss me off so much. But there really is anger simmering in my chest.

"I'm… sorry," I say. "I don't know what came over me."

"Are you sure you're all right, Hermione?" Harry asks, his brows knitted together in concern.

I nod. "Yes, I'm fine."

Blaise is looking at me with an expression that clearly says he thinks there's something wrong. But I can't see why he's so worried. Ron has always cared about me, and I have every right to change my mind about him, don't I?

"I'll just go back," I say. "Good night, boys."

"Night, Hermione," Harry says.

The same expression remains on Blaise's face as I back out of the room and pull the door shut. I cross the dark living room and enter my bedroom.

Oh, when will Ron come back?

I wonder if Harry and Blaise are talking about me again. Maybe I should ask Draco for help again… he's close friends with Blaise. I'm sure he could talk some sense into him, if I asked him to.

But if he said that he would come today and he didn't, I'm sure he's probably busy with something unavoidable. After all, he did say that he cares about me. He wouldn't lie to me.

I think back on the feelings that I'd started developing for him—I really did feel something, didn't I? I frown as I recall the intensity of the emotions that had coursed through me when I'd thought that he might die. Thinking back, reliving that moment, I for some reason can't feel anything. It's as though his effect on me has completely vanished.

Maybe it _was_ gratitude, then. Now that I've had some time to myself to put some space between myself and all of his actions, the gratitude must have faded off.

Then I remember that Ginny had seen me with Draco the morning that he recovered. I should probably find a chance to set her straight about that—I'm almost positive that she had the impression that Draco and I were in the starting phases of a romantic relationship.

I bite my lip. Hopefully she won't say anything to Ron…

Suddenly I'm worried. I hope Ron comes back very soon. What could they want with him, anyway? I can't see why they'd only ask for him and not Harry, Blaise, or me.

Then there's a light pop, and I turn around to see Draco standing by the door.

"Draco," I say with a small smile.

He nods and gives me a warm smile. "Hello, Hermione."

I guess I can understand why my heart would have softened toward him for a little bit. He really _is_ beautiful. I just don't feel anything for him. Not anymore, at least. None of the passion that I felt remains when I look at him.

"I want you to help me," I say. "Harry and Blaise… I think they could be planning something behind my back."

"I highly doubt that," he says, grinning.

"Really, they are," I insist. "I don't think they like that Ron and I are back together."

He pauses, and the grin on his face slowly fades.

Oh, right. I probably should have been more sensitive about that—after all, he _did_ admit that he had feelings for me. Darn.

"I… don't understand," he finally says.

"I want you to help me with—" I begin to repeat.

"I heard what you said the first time," he says. "What I don't understand is how you could… change your mind, just like that."

I frown. "I haven't changed all that much, have I?"

"I thought that we…"

His voice fades, and I wonder what he's thinking—a cool expression has settled over his features, and it gives me no clue at all as to what could possibly be on his mind.

"You don't approve either, then," I say. When he remains silent, I decide to explain. "Ron and I… we've had some trouble in the past, because I didn't know what I wanted. But we're past that. We're meant for each other. We belong together, Ron and I."

The words feel extremely true to me, and saying them just feels right. It seems so strange that I could have rejected him so many times in the past.

Still, he doesn't speak, and I begin to feel a little irritated. Won't he say anything?

"What did you expect?" I ask. "I wasn't going to fall in love with you instead of Ron just because you saved my life a few times."

His eyes meet mine, but I can't see any emotion in them.

"Why did you kiss me?"

His voice sounds curiously… dead.

"Well, why did _you_ kiss _me?_" I return. "You started it."

"You know my feelings," he says, as though he's forcing the words out.

I look down. Oh, I've been leading him on terribly. The feelings seemed so real at the time, but now… god, this is awful. I think… besides the gratitude, part of me just wanted to know… what it felt like to kiss him. He'd always been so forbidden—that must have been part of the reason.

"I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, Draco," I say slowly, my eyes fixed on the floor. "I just wanted to know how it felt."

There's a long silence, and I peek up at him to see that he's also looking at the ground.

But then, as though he feels my eyes on him, he glances up at me and shrugs. "It's no problem," he says easily. "Don't worry about it."

I let out a sigh of relief. Oh, fantastic. He's not angry.

"I'm glad you understand," I say with a smile. "But can you help me?"

"I'm busy with things that are more important than you and your dear Ronald," he replies.

"But… I'm almost positive that Blaise and Harry want to do something. It'd be great if you could talk to Blaise and find out for me. I can't help but feel like it's something that's going to—"

"Granger, I'm sorry if I don't really care about your suspicions. There are bigger things on my mind."

"Draco, please help me," I say, taking a step forward and looking at him pleadingly.

He turns away from me, and I frown, surprised. I was so sure that he would do this for me. He said that he understood, didn't he? He cares about me, so he'll do this for me… won't he?

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yes, I know some of you are going to think that Harry's thick for not suspecting Ron, but Ron _is_ his best friend, so he wouldn't jump straight to that conclusion. As for why Blaise isn't voicing his suspicion, he has his own reason that I may or may not be able to fit in the story… I'll let you guys know what it is if I don't have the opportunity to put it in here. Although I'm pretty sure some of you can already guess what it is.

I realize that this wasn't a very nice place to end the chapter, so I'll try to put the next one up soon. Promise!


	63. Chapter 63 D

**Author's Note:** Yes, this is still a Dramione fic. I think someone mentioned in the reviews for the last chapter that they were beginning to doubt it, so I just wanted to clarify that. But seriously, what's a good story without some pain and conflict? xD

Anyway, reading for class was getting to be extremely tiresome, so I decided to take another break and edit the next chapter for you guys.

**Chapter 63**

"I don't think they like that Ron and I are back together."

I feel like my heart just stopped. Are my ears working right?

"I… don't understand," I say.

Misunderstanding me, she begins to repeat her request.

"I heard what you said the first time," I say. "What I don't understand is how you could… change your mind, just like that."

She looks at me with an almost confused expression. "I haven't changed all that much, have I?"

"I thought that we…" my voice fades.

I won't say it. I can be as self-doubting as I want in my head, but I'll never voice my insecurities. She looks at me for a long moment.

"You don't approve either, then," she finally says.

What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? Of _course_ I don't approve!

Then she's speaking again, "Ron and I… we've had some trouble in the past, because I didn't know what I wanted. But we're past that. We're meant for each other. We belong together, Ron and I."

Pain lances through my chest at her words, but I won't feel it. I can numb this. I can turn this off. I can do it, just like I did in Russia. I can do it.

"What did you expect?" she asks me, sounding a little impatient now. "I wasn't going to fall in love with you instead of Ron just because you saved my life a few times."

I stare at her, and the look in her eyes tells me that she's being completely honest. More pain. I don't want to ask the question, but I can't seem to hold it back.

"Why did you kiss me?"

She looks perplexed for a moment before replying, "Well, why did _you_ kiss _me?_ You started it."

"You know my feelings," I reply through gritted teeth.

I hate talking about these things, hate feeling so exposed. But I have to know at least this.

She lowers her gaze, seemingly unable to meet my eyes. "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, Draco. I just wanted to know how it felt."

Wanted to know how _what_ felt? Wanted to know how it felt to plant a seed of false hope, leave it to grow, and then crush it back down?

Fuck!

Ain't fucking going to happen again.

Never again.

Fuck you, Hermione Granger. Fuck you.

Despite the raging storm in my head, I shrug nonchalantly. "It's no problem. Don't worry about it."

She smiles radiantly. "I'm glad you understand. But can you help me?"

I exhale through my nose. "I'm busy with things that are more important than you and your dear Ronald."

She doesn't protest when I use that particular phrase to refer to the weasel, and I'm—fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—crushed. How can she ask me for help with something so… trivial? She _knows_ that I have more important things occupying my time.

"But… I'm almost positive that Blaise and Harry want to do something. It'd be great if you could talk to Blaise and find out for me. I can't help but feel like it's something that's going to—"

God, I have to stop her. "Granger, I'm sorry if I don't really care about your suspicions," I say, cutting her off. "There are bigger things on my mind."

"Draco—"

The fact that she still uses my first name somehow burns me. It'd be easier if she went right back to my surname.

"—please help me," she says.

She widens her eyes just slightly, looking at me imploringly.

How am I supposed to reject her?

I grit my teeth and turn away. She just shoved a stake into my chest. I refuse to be so weak.

But she steps around me and puts her hand on my cheek. I close my eyes to avoid looking into those lovely brown eyes, the ones that invariably make me lose whatever shaky control I have over myself.

"You'll help me, won't you?" she says softly. "You care about me, so you'll help me."

I steel myself and open my eyes to glare at her.

"No," I say. "Goodbye, Granger."

I take a step back, and as soon as I'm out of reach, I Disapparate.

I appear in my room at the Manor moments later and fall back onto my bed.

Fuck. Why did I let myself get talked so easily into letting people inside my home? I'll never be able to make them leave. I've lost my real home.

With a sigh, I get back to my feet and Apparate to my godfather's home at Spinner's End.

This place isn't secret, but at least no one will expect me to be here.

I don't want to think about her. I need to keep my mind away from _her_.

In the study, I collapse into the worn armchair in front of the fireplace, wondering how many times my godfather sat in this exact spot.

I owe him so much. When I couldn't go through with what the Dark Lord demanded of me, he stepped in. If he hadn't, I'm sure the Dark Lord would have killed me, as well as both of my parents. I know now that he'd made the Unbreakable Vow with Mother, but the fact that he would agree to make that vow is, in itself, enough to earn my gratitude.

Snape was a cold man, to almost everyone with whom he interacted. But I remember almost every one of his rare smiles directed toward me—small, hardly noticeable smiles of encouragement back in Potions class, a faint smile of approval when he learned that I'd stood up to Father on Mother's behalf…

* * *

Sometime later, I summon from the bathroom a basin identical to the one that's in my cottage—it's one of the very few things that I brought into this house when I inherited it.

My godfather gave the set of identical basins to me for my fourteenth birthday. I hadn't really appreciated them at the time because I hadn't had the skills to use them. But now, I'm so grateful to him for giving them to me.

I place the basin on my lap and fill it to about halfway with water.

For some reason, I have to see her. I should respect her decision, but I just… I can't believe that she would really change her mind so quickly. I don't know what watching her will prove, but I just want to see her.

When the image appears on the water, I'm too… I can't even react.

She and Weasley are sitting on her bed, lips locked together in what looks like a heated snog.

Anger and hurt rises in my chest, and I know that I can't just let this go. I'm not that noble, not that selfless. I can't just give her up.

I shake my head at myself. No, I have to get this under control. I can't be so impulsive.

Besides, as soon as she finds out all that I've done… she'll never want me.

Then I hear muffled banging coming from the front door.

Bloody hell. How could I not have noticed someone crossing the wards?

Setting the stone basin to the side, I get to my feet and move silently through the house, cautiously approaching the door. The bangs are spaced out, and from the way the door is creaking in protest, they're increasing in strength.

Realizing at the last second what's about to happen, I leap to the side just as the intruder kicks the door in.

"Incarcerous!" I bark, ropes twisting from the end of my wand.

The intruder, wielding a knife, slashes through the ropes with near-inhuman speed.

_Stupefy!_

The jet of red light hits him square in the chest, and he staggers back a step. How the hell is he still standing? I hit him with another Stunning Spell, and he collapses.

With a wave of my wand, the front door rights itself and fills the doorframe, good as new.

I check the wards and find that they're still intact—I must have been too distracted to notice the intruder.

I lean down in an attempt to get a closer look at his face and gasp. His cheeks are sunken, and the dark patches below his eyes are indicative of scant sleep. I didn't recognize him at first, so significant was the transformation.

Remus Lupin.

But this could easily be a fake.

I tie him up and stand guard over him, thinking about the ways in which someone else would be able to assume his likeness. I attempt a spell to Untransfigure him, but none of my attempts have any effect on him.

Well, it could also be Polyjuice Potion.

Then I notice his eyes moving beneath his eyelids and take a small step back into the shadows, so that my face won't be visible to him.

"Where…" he murmurs in a hoarse voice. He pauses as he sees my feet and the lower half of my body. "Who are you?"

"What are you doing here?" I counter.

"I… I escaped. I escaped," he says. Then he repeats his query, "Who are you?"

"You can't have escaped," I say, frowning. "Explain to me how you escaped."

"The guard was bringing food. I attacked him… killed him…" his voice fades, and his face blanches. "I bit Alicia," he says suddenly.

I blink. "Pardon?"

"I escaped," he says.

I look at the man pitifully. The former professor had never dressed well in the past, but he's clothed in rags now, exposing some of the marks of the torture that he's suffered—lash marks, burns, and scars mark his bare arms and the bit of his torso that I can see. It can't have been much more than two weeks since he was captured, yet it looks like he's been held captive for months.

And the time seems to have taken a toll on his sanity. I wonder if Aunt Bella had anything to do with this.

"I have to be sure that you're you before I do anything," I tell him.

"Please… water," he croaks. "I need some water. And who are you?"

I levitate a glass and float it to him, filling it with water. I flick my wand to lift it to his lips and tilt it to let him drink. When he finishes, he smiles gratefully in my direction, and I Vanish the glass.

"Who are you?" he repeats yet again.

"I can't tell you. We'll stay here quietly for a few hours."

"Why?"

"I don't trust you," I say.

It's silent for a long moment.

"Please tell me who you are, what you're doing in Severus' house," he says.

"No."

"How long—"

"Until sunrise. By then, any Polyjuice Potion you might have in your system will have faded. Until then, I won't reveal anything to you."

"Are you in the Order? Can you tell me that much?" he pleads.

"No, I'm not," I tell him.

He looks extremely disappointed, dejected. "Why aren't you taking me back, then? Why do you give me hope? Was I able to kill that guard only because you allowed it?" he asks in a surprising bout of clarity.

"Perhaps," I say, intrigued. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

His eyes have gone unfocused again, unseeing. "I bit a small boy," he says softly. "I couldn't stop. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to _eat_ him."

"What did you do after you escaped?" I ask, ignoring his statement—he must be thinking of his werewolf memories.

"Ran," he replies, still with that same lost look in his eyes. "I ran here. I recognized… recognized this neighborhood. Lily's house. I saw… I knew that Severus lived here."

"And why did you want in?"

"Hungry… thirsty… needed a place to hide," he says. Then his face contorts with anguish and guilt. "I bit Alicia."

"Yes, I heard you the first time you said that," I say. "Do you remember the path you took to get here?"

He doesn't respond.

"Hey," I say to get his attention.

"I won't tell you anything. Are you going to torture me now?"

"No," I say.

Lupin looks surprised, but he doesn't speak again. We stay silent for a long time.

To occupy my mind, I decide to test the wards to make sure no one else could have gotten in. I shrink them until they hug the house and then expand them, monitoring the boundaries to see if anyone has followed Lupin here. My sweep reveals no one.

There's no way that Lupin could have escaped, unless they allowed him to. Tonight isn't the full moon, so why would they release him?

"Lupin," I say, and he jerks toward my voice. "If you truly are Remus Lupin, tell me this. What was Draco Malfoy's boggart from the end-of-term exams, third year?"

Each of us had taken on a boggart privately in those exams, and Lupin had promised that no one else would ever know what our boggarts were. If he gets this right, I can be certain of his identity.

"Young Malfoy…" he murmurs. "Is it you?"

"Hardly."

"It was your father," he goes on. "I still remember… every word he said."

The werewolf looks extremely lucid, and I wonder exactly how much pain he's endured, so much that he slips in and out of full awareness.

"And what do you remember that he said?"

I had worshipped Father then. My worst fear was that he would tell me how he disapproved of me, how he was ashamed to have me as a son…

"I… am ashamed of you," Lupin begins to recite. "You are not fit to bear the noble last name—"

"Enough," I say, cutting him off midstream.

"It still bothers you," he says perceptively.

I finally step out of the shadow and into the muted moonlight that's filtering in from between the shades. His eyes find my face, and he sighs.

I take a knee in front of him.

"Look into my eyes," I say. "I have to be sure."

He meets my gaze readily, and I dive into his memories. Wanting to cause him minimal discomfort, I flip swiftly through his mind until I find the memory of his escape.

The images are blurred, hazy, and the sounds are distorted and indistinct—telltale signs of having been tampered with. All that's clear is that he had a knife, and he slit the throat of the guard who had come to deliver a meal to him.

Not even the inside of the cell or the corridors that he ran through are clear. This might even be a _planted_ memory.

The inspection confirms my suspicion that this was an intentional release, and not some miraculous escape. But what could be their motive for releasing him? There's an _extremely_ slim chance that this could be an Oliver Wood repeat performance, but I highly doubt it. No one's even out searching for Lupin, so this must have been planned.

But _why?_

I withdraw from his mind, and his eyes fall to the ground.

"I apologize, but it was necessary," I say, Vanishing the ropes around him with a flick of my wrist. "I'll have someone take you back to the Order."

I wrap my fist around the serpent charm. _Lupin, Spinner's End_.

"I heard that… that Dora…"

"She's not dead, as far as I've heard," I say, knowing that he's talking about Nymphadora.

Despite my words, Lupin still looks worried and restless as he slowly regains his feet.

The response on my charm comes almost instantly—_when?_

_Now._

"Is that a… Protean Charm?" Lupin asks, eyes focused on the necklace.

I nod. Then I feel someone crossing the boundary. "Stay low," I tell him. "Someone's here, but the wards don't tell friend from foe."

Lupin nods and crouches low.

I move to the door and throw it open, wand at the ready.

"You said Lupin is here?" Granger asks, standing a few feet away from the door.

The sight of her crushes me yet again—her hair is a little messy, and her lips are swollen, evidence of her recent activities with the weasel. I have half a mind to tell her to leave straightaway and send Blaise instead, because I won't let her have Lupin.

"Well?" she says.

"Hermione…" Lupin murmurs from behind me—apparently he's moved to the doorway as well. "It's great to see you."

"Oh my god…" she says softly, moving past me and into the house. "Lupin… what did they do to you?"

"You can worry about it when you're safe," I say. "Take him away."

Granger turns to me. "But I can't take him to your—"

"Take him to Hogwarts," I say.

I spoke to Aunt Bella late this afternoon, and she told me about the failure of the Death Eater patrol at Hogwarts. She broke the news to Voldemort two days ago, but although he was livid, he hadn't decided on a course of action regarding the wizarding school.

"Voldemort is furious that you've retaken it, by the way," I say, deciding that the Order should have a warning. "He's planning to take it back eventually, but you should be safe for the time being."

"All right," Granger says. "I'll tell the others. Draco… can you stay here for a few minutes? I want to come back and… and talk to you."

I shake my head. "Sorry, can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to."

She frowns at me but doesn't reply.

"Just take him," I say.

Lupin is looking between the two of us, not quite following the turn in our conversation.

"Fine," she finally says, taking Lupin's hand.

She Disapparates with him, and I'm left standing alone in the doorway of my godfather's house, feeling more alone than before.

I wonder if this was what my godfather felt like whenever Lily Evans left his company for James Potter.

I suppose he and I have more in common than I thought.

Fuck.


	64. Chapter 64 H

**Author's Note:** It's been something like four days since I last posted… sorry! I'm trying to fit in more writing time, but it's not working out so well. I've already figured out how this particularly unhappy part of the story is going to play out, but I have yet to finish fleshing it all out. So again, sorry about that!

But anyway, today would be the first day of school at Hogwarts! So I figured I should post another chapter to mark the occasion (: Wish I had a happier chapter to post, though…

**Chapter 64**

I don't understand why he's being so cold to me. He even said that he understood! I suppose he could be hurt because I was leading him on, and he has every right to be.

But then he shouldn't have said that he understood and acted like everything was fine with him. If he'd said that he didn't want to see me again, then I wouldn't have bothered to ask to speak to him alone. I don't understand that boy.

Lupin grunts, and I immediately reach a hand out to help steady him—he insisted on walking without my help, but it's clear that he's in a lot of pain. I gave him a spare wand and tried to help him numb some of the pain, but he's clearly been put through too much. I'm sure Madam Pomfrey will know what to do to help him.

Then there's a loud shout, and I look up to see Ginny running toward us from the great front doors of the castle. Neville's running close behind her, but he doesn't look half as excited—before the pair of them can reach me and Lupin, Neville's grabbed her arm, yanking her to a halt.

"Neville, let _go_ of me!"

Neville points his wand at me.

"I'm not a Death Eater," I say with a sigh. "No one with a Mark can get in, remember?"

"Still," Neville says. "What's your middle name?"

Ginny lets out a frustrated groan.

"Jean. Wendell and Monica Wilkins, Australia," I say tiredly.

"_Now_ can I give her a hug?" Ginny says, tugging her arm out of Neville's grasp.

She runs the last few paces over and throws her arms around me enthusiastically.

"I'm happy to see you too, Ginny," I say with a smile.

"When you see Harry, give him that for me," she says, backing off.

Lupin's eyes are fixed on the entrance, and I follow his line of sight to see Tonks standing at the top of the steps, staring. She seems to be speechless, and the expression on her face sends a twinge of pain through my chest. I myself was shocked enough by Lupin's appearance—I can't imagine how Tonks feels.

"Come on," I say gently, taking Lupin's arm and leading him forward.

He doesn't seem to want to move, but he takes a few steps with me. When Neville moves to his other side to help support his weight, he doesn't protest.

As we reach the entrance, Tonks steps over and takes Neville's place, reaching out to support her husband. Her eyes are sorrowful but grateful at once, and the conflicting emotions somehow make her seem more tragically beautiful than she ordinarily is.

"McGonagall will want to hear what happened," she says.

"Yes, I know," I say.

The small crowd that had been gathering around the entrance parts for us as we move into the castle, flanked on either side by Neville and Ginny.

"Bloody hell, Lupin," George says, stepping out of the crowd as we start going upstairs toward the hospital wing.

Fred follows. "Did you see Lee or Alicia?"

"I… I…" Lupin's voice fades.

"What happened?" Tonks asks her husband softly.

"I bit Alicia."

George stops moving instantly, and I glance back to see disbelief written all over his face. "No," he breathes.

Fred grabs his twin's elbow and drags him up the stairs behind us. "Come _on_."

Then we stop moving, and I look up to see that Angelina's standing at the top of the steps, blocking our way.

"You did what?" she murmurs.

"Oh Remus, don't—" Tonks begins.

"I bit Alicia," Lupin repeats miserably, all of the fight in his body leaving him.

His legs give out, and Tonks and I struggle to keep him upright. Neville steps forward to take Lupin's weight from me, and I back up to let him—four or five years ago, I would have told him that I could handle it because I really was stronger than him, but he's filled out during these hard times, and I'm sure his strength rivals at least Ron's, if not Harry's.

"Angelina, move," Fred says.

I note that he's standing at the top of the steps now, having somehow maneuvered past the group of us. George offers to help Tonks, but she shakes her head firmly in response.

Angelina's eyes have filled with tears for her best friend, and she bites her lip. "I…" she shakes her head and turns away, heading toward Gryffindor Tower. "I have to find Katie."

"Let—let me go with you," Fred says, following her away.

"Remus, it's all right," Tonks says in a soothing voice. "Come, let's get you some help."

Lupin doesn't look like he wants help, but Neville and Tonks half-drag him to the hospital wing. Ginny, George and I follow close behind, and when we reach the double doors leading to the familiar room, Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall are already there, waiting for us.

"Dear Merlin, Remus, you look a fright," Madam Pomfrey murmurs. "Come, come."

She gestures for all of us to enter the room, and Ginny and I shut the doors behind the group.

"Hello Minerva, Poppy," Lupin says as he's eased gently onto a cot.

"What can you tell us?" McGonagall asks, moving toward him.

"Please, Minerva, don't you see his state?" Madam Pomfrey says. "Any questions should wait until tomorrow, at the very earliest."

McGonagall nods. "Of course," she says. Then she turns toward me. "Miss Granger, I'd like to have a word with you in my office."

I nod.

"Can we come?" Ginny asks.

McGonagall hesitates before nodding. "Well, I suppose everyone already knows that Remus has returned, and we should have an explanation for them by tomorrow. You three might as well find out now."

George casts an almost angry glance in Lupin's direction as we leave the room, and I'm a bit surprised. I knew that he and Alicia had been getting close, but it was always very playful between them. He seems to be extremely serious about her now, though.

Soon, we're standing in the Headmaster's office. When McGonagall fixes her gaze on me, I realize just how little I know about what happened to Lupin—I hadn't even bothered to ask Draco when I had the chance. What was I thinking?

McGonagall prompts me to begin speaking. "Miss Granger?"

I sigh. "I'm sorry, Professor. I… don't know very much. Malfoy summoned me to Professor Snape's home, and when I got there, Lupin was with him."

George narrows his eyes. "Are you even certain that this is the real Lupin?" he asks me.

"I…"

Oh, Merlin. I didn't even ask Draco if he'd checked that! Of course, I know that he would have—he's very thorough, and I'd trust him with my life. But still, I should have asked. None of the others here trust him as I do.

"Hermione, are you all right?" Ginny asks.

"I guess I just… I'm sorry. I forgot to ask Malfoy. When I saw Lupin, I just… I didn't think about anything else. He was in such a state—you all saw him yourselves."

"It's quite all right," McGonagall says, and I look up at her, surprised. "I'm sure Nymphadora will test him privately before trusting that he is indeed her husband. After all, she _is_ an Auror."

"Was that it, then?" Neville asks. "Malfoy called you to Spinner's End and just… handed him over to you? Did he say anything about how Lupin got there?"

I shake my head, feeling more and more useless by the minute. How could I have forgotten so many important details? I don't even have an excuse for myself.

"That was it. I didn't think to ask," I say.

"We'll ask Remus tomorrow morning, as soon as Poppy gives us leave," McGonagall says softly. "Miss Granger, it's unlike you to be so careless. I hope you'll be more prudent in the future."

"I will," I say. "Again, I'm sorry."

"You should return now," she says. "I will contact you through the Floo Network when I know more about Remus—I'm sure that the boys will be anxious to hear about him."

"Is the Floo Network… safe?" I ask her. "I know that Ron was able to come and go, but…"

She nods. "I've only kept the link to this fireplace—" she gestures to her right "—in working condition. I've disabled all other fireplaces, and I generally have this connection closed. I rarely open it."

"Yeah. Last time, I contacted you through this fireplace," Ginny says.

"All right, then," I say, satisfied. "I think I'll still Apparate back, though. It's probably best to keep the connection closed as much as possible."

McGonagall nods her agreement. "Go on, then."

The four of us leave her office together, and I start back toward the hospital wing—I want to speak to Tonks again, to see if she knows whether or not it's really Lupin. I feel so guilty about not checking first, and it's the least I can do.

A hand rests on my shoulder, and I turn my head to see George walking beside me.

"Did… did Malfoy happen to say anything about what might have happened to Alicia?" he asks.

"He didn't," I reply. "I'm so sorry, George."

He shakes his head. "It's all right. I'll find Fred and Angelina, see if they… if I can do anything."

George leaves us, and I continue on toward the hospital wing. Ginny and Neville continue to follow me, and I wonder if there's something going on that I don't know about.

"Where are you going?" Neville asks.

"I want to talk to Tonks," I reply. "Why are you two following me?"

"I erm… Ginny, you can go first," Neville says.

"Actually, my problem is going to take a while," Ginny says. "Neville, you go ahead."

I stop walking and turn around to face them so that we can have a proper conversation—my talk with Tonks can wait, if Neville and Ginny need something from me.

"Erm… never mind," Neville mumbles, walking past me.

I reach out and grab his arm, stopping him. "Wait, Neville," I say. "What's wrong?"

He slowly turns back around to face Ginny and me, a sad expression on his face.

"It's… my gran," he says. "I haven't heard anything from her in ages, and I'm just… worried. I was wondering if… maybe…"

I nod, understanding. "I'll ask Malfoy the next time I see him, I promise."

He smiles gratefully. "Thanks, Hermione. I'd hate to hear that she's been captured—sighted would be best, really—but I just… I don't want to keep waiting and not knowing."

I pat his shoulder gently. "I'll try to get back to you as soon as possible," I say.

Neville gives me another brief smile before turning and walking down the hall. I shift my attention to Ginny, but she's watching Neville. I suppose she wants to wait until we're really alone.

"What did you need, Ginny?" I ask her.

She looks around and then pulls me into an empty classroom. "Harry told me through the Floo that you and Ron are back together," she informs me.

"I thought you could only use the one in McGonagall's office."

"Yes well, she's not always up there, so I just—"

"Ginny, that's dangerous! A Death Eater could slip into the castle using that connection!"

"Not while it's actively connecting to another location. I closed it right after," Ginny protests.

"But in the time it takes for you to close it, someone could still get in," I say.

"It's not like they're watching every Floo connection to the castle, Hermione. Calm down."

I sigh. "Ginny, you have to take the security here seriously."

"Yes, yes, I know. Now will you stop trying to change the subject? I wanted to talk about you and Ron. How—"

"Can you please not bring this up?" I interrupt her. "I already got into a near-argument with Blaise and Harry over this."

"Well, I… I'd love for you to be my sister," she says. "I don't _disapprove_, necessarily. But the thing is, you told me that you didn't feel that way about him. And what was all that with Malfoy?"

"I don't know what to say. My feelings changed, I guess."

"But Hermione, you and I both know that feelings don't just change like that, like flipping a switch. Did Malfoy reject you? Is this some—"

"Rebound?" I say, finishing her sentence. "Are you going to accuse me of using your brother to _rebound?_"

I actually feel genuinely hurt that she would believe something like that of me.

"I just… you were _so sure_ that it was all over, Hermione. And it's been years. _And_ I saw how you were looking at Malfoy that morning," she says.

"I really don't know what to tell you," I say. "What happens now, then? Are you going to tell me to stay away from him?"

Ginny shakes her head. "No. I just want you to be sure, is all."

"Well… I _am_ sure," I say.

"All right, then," Ginny says. "That's all I needed to know."

Without another word, she exits the room, and I'm left frowning at the door. It seems rather clear to me that she doesn't approve of my choice to get back together with Ron.

Why is everyone so opposed to it? I thought that they'd always wanted the two of us to be together…

* * *

**Author's Note:** Silly Hermione, it's because this is a Dramione story! :P

Yeah I know, not funny. My brain is a bit fried, so excuse the lame attempt at humor xD


	65. Chapter 65 D

**Author's Note:** Have any guesses as to what will happen in this chapter? I'm willing to bet you won't get it right! :P

**Chapter 65**

I reluctantly make my way downstairs to the study, where Theo is apparently waiting for me. Naree came up to my room about thirty seconds ago, saying that he had urgent news for me, but I couldn't bring myself to hurry.

I enter the room and see his face floating in the fireplace.

"What took you so long?" he asks.

I shrug. "What is it that you wanted to tell me?"

"Oh, I suppose it can wait. How was your trip?"

"So you _don't_ have anything life-changing to tell me," I say.

He chuckles. "Just answer the question, mate."

"It was bloody fantastic," I reply sarcastically. "What do you want me to say? I can't tell you anything."

"Yeah, you're right," he says. "Well, I found out something new—_very_ interesting. Come over for a few minutes, will you?"

"I'm tired."

"Trust me. You'll want to hear this."

I frown. Theo knows me rather well—not as well as Blaise, of course—so if he thinks it's something I'll be interested in, perhaps I should go. I might learn something useful in the process.

"Fine," I say reluctantly.

Theo backs out of the way, and I step through the fireplace and into his living room. His father is sitting in an armchair with a copy of the Daily Prophet in his hands. Why in the world he'd be reading _that_, I have no idea—it hasn't printed a word of truth in years.

"Master Nott," I say, nodding my head in his direction.

"Young Malfoy," he says in reply. "I didn't know we had the _honor_."

I don't appreciate his sarcasm, but I decide not to reply, opting to follow Theo out of the room. I'm already accustomed to this sort of reception from the elder Nott.

As we move down the hallway toward Theo's bedroom, something on a shelf catches my attention, and I stop. It's a shrunken head placed in a jar, suspended by a thick sort of jelly. I've seen these before, but this particular one makes me sick to my stomach.

"Oi, Theo," I say, fighting the urge to gag. "Where did you get this?"

"Get what?" he asks, turning back and coming toward me. Then he sees the item that I'm looking at. "Aw fuck, Draco. I hate looking at that thing."

"Where'd you get it?" I repeat.

"My dad brought it back," he says. "Said it was a gift from the Dark Lord."

"Hmm. Do you know if he got it from the Dark Lord himself?"

"He didn't. I remember he was pretty offended because _Macnair_ delivered the gift to him."

"Macnair?"

Theo nods. "Yeah, that sick… well, anyway. Come on, mate. I really do have something to show you. Quit staring at that shriveled head—it's disgusting."

It's clear to me that Theo doesn't recognize the face. And I suppose it's completely understandable—the face has been shrunk, and all the skin shriveled until the texture looks almost like a raisin.

But I recognize the dark red, ruby stud set in his right ear, left untouched by the Shrinking Spell. It catches the light and winks at me. I've only seen one man with this single earring.

This is the head of Seamus Finnigan.

"Draco."

I turn my head to see Theo poking his head out of his room to look at me, a perplexed expression on his face. I quickly push aside the feelings of guilt and turn away from the evidence of my crime, moving down the hall toward my friend.

"What is it with you and that head?" he mutters as I enter the room.

"Nothing," I say. "Those things disgust me."

"So naturally, you would keep staring at them."

"It's disgusting, but the amount of skill required to… never mind. You wouldn't be interested. What's got you so excited?" I ask to distract him.

He casts a Muffling Charm. "Don't be so impatient, Draco. I was sure that this would interest you."

"Go on, then."

"I heard my Dad telling my Mum that the Dark Lord has figured out how to restore sanity."

I scoff. "I doubt that. Semblance of sanity, perhaps. But losing your mind… I'm fairly certain that that's irreversible. It's permanent damage."

"I'm serious," Theo insists. "My dad said that there's living proof of it, and I saw it with my own eyes."

I raise an eyebrow skeptically. "Oh, really?"

Theo nods.

"All right then, who has he brought back from the loony bin?"

"Frank Longbottom."

At the mention of that name, my mind flashes back to that brief conversation I'd had in the dungeons with Aunt Bella. What a bloody coincidence.

I frown. "I don't believe it."

"I thought you'd say that," he says. Then he grins. "Actually, I'd sort of counted on it."

"I'm guessing you have some way to prove it, then."

"You bet I do. I'm going to take you to meet the man yourself. And you can be the judge of his sanity," Theo says.

For some reason, he sounds proud. I suppose it _is_ an accomplishment, discovering something like this. Voldemort likes to keep his newly developed skills under wraps, preferring to maintain a sense of uncertainty among his followers about the exact extent of his powers.

"All right, then," I say doubtfully. "Lead the way."

* * *

After a brief stop at the Manor so that I can retrieve my Death Eater mask and cloak, Theo takes me by Side-Along Apparition to a Death Eater camp. I haven't been here before.

"Where are we?"

"Derbyshire. I've done a couple rotations here," Theo says.

I follow him underground and down a long, empty hallway.

"He's in a hidden room," Theo explains in a low voice. "They brought him straight here from St. Mungo's."

"Who brought him?" I ask.

Theo shrugs. "Who knows?"

"I'll bet it was Macnair. He runs a lot of errands for the Dark Lord," I say.

After glancing back over his shoulder to make sure that no one's following us, Theo opens a hidden door at the end of the hallway. I follow him into a narrower hall, and he seals the entrance.

"My dad told me about this place," Theo says as we head down the hall.

I notice a door on our right.

"We probably shouldn't be here," I say.

"Since when did you ever give a damn about the rules?" Theo asks, looking over his shoulder to raise an eyebrow at me.

"Since we could be killed for being in here. You're too nosy for your own good, Theo," I reply.

Then we hear the gears shifting in the outer door that we just passed through.

"Fuck," I hiss as we hurry past the single door on the right. "You probably just got us both killed. Stand still and shut up."

I cast a Disillusionment Charm over each of us and stand very still against the wall, pressing Theo into the wall beside me.

Then the secret door swings open, and Aunt Bella enters. She shuts the door with a flick of her wand and strides down the hall toward us. I keep my breaths deep and even, making as little noise as possible.

She stops in front of the cell door, only a few paces away from us.

A cracked voice sounds out from within the cell.

"Bella."

Aunt Bella flinches visibly. "You can call me Lestrange, Longbottom."

Again, I recall the brief exchange we had in the dungeons. Do any of her feelings remain? She seems affected by his presence.

"Bella… please help me," he whispers.

"Longbottom, I'm surprised at you. You didn't beg for mercy, even when I tortured you. So, what is it that you want badly enough to beg? Please, tell me, and I'll gladly reject you," Aunt Bella says gleefully.

"Bella, please—"

"Crucio!" she hisses, all amusement fading from her features as she points her wand between the bars.

Cries of agony echo from inside the cell. I feel Theo trembling beside me. He hates the Torture Curse—I was forced to use it on him once, and I remember noticing that he seemed more sensitive to it than other people.

Then Aunt Bella lifts the curse, and the screams stop.

"I suppose you haven't forgotten what that feels like, have you?" she taunts.

"Bella—"

"_Stop_ calling me that! Who do you think you _are?_ Crucio!"

More pained shrieks come from within the cell, and I reach to the side and give Theo's shoulder a good squeeze to tell him it'll be all right. If he panics and makes noise, we'll be done for.

Then the screaming stops again.

"I can torture you right back to insanity," Aunt Bella says, a frightening expression on her face. "I did it once, and I can do it again."

"Lestrange—sorry—" Longbottom pants. "Please… my son…"

"What of your son?"

"He needs help. Bella, please, if you ever—"

"I am not here to listen to your pleas."

"Then why _are_ you here?"

"To enjoy your suffering."

Odd, she doesn't seem to be enjoying herself. The smile on her face is forced. I've seen what her genuine smile looks like—it's rare, but it's shown itself in the past—and this smile certainly isn't it.

"I'm… sorry," Longbottom murmurs, his voice more hoarse than before. "I never should have—"

"That's quite enough. I am not that pathetic little girl anymore. I thought you should know that by now."

"You're not here for information," Longbottom says boldly. "You're not here for torture, either. Why did you come, Bella?"

The look on my aunt's face is positively murderous.

"I came to see if the rumors were true. Unfortunately, it seems that they are. Well, I've satisfied my curiosity," she says with a detached air. "I'll be going now."

With that, she spins on her heel and departs.

It's almost an entire minute before I lift the Disillusionment Charms on Theo and myself.

"I'm surprised," Theo comments. "She didn't even go into the cell."

"Who's out there?" Longbottom asks.

"Longbottom!" I say. "I hear you've recovered quite nicely."

"Who—"

"No one of consequence," I reply. "Do you know why you've gotten back your sanity?"

There's a brief pause.

When he speaks again, he sounds angry. "Yes, I know why."

"Want to tell me what you think the reason is?" I ask.

"Don't try to mess with my head," he says. "I was mad before. Not anymore."

"I'm not messing with you."

"Leverage," he says, in response to my question. "That's what you want me for, isn't it?"

Leverage? For what? I open up the door to his cell.

"What are you doing?" Theo hisses.

I enter the cell and take in Frank Longbottom's appearance. He has short, grey wisps of hair on his head, and his ears seem rather large, a trait that I noticed before in Neville Longbottom. But aside from this one similarity, this father looks nothing like his son. He has bright, fierce eyes, and a prominent brow, exaggerated by thick, bushy eyebrows. His face is long and angled, while Neville's face is rounder.

"Your son doesn't look much like you," I comment.

"He took after his mother," he replies. "Have you seen Neville?"

I shake my head. "Not in years."

"Please… do me a favor," he murmurs.

"And why would I do that?"

"Pity. Compassion. Because it's my dying wish."

"You're not dying," I point out.

"I don't plan to survive this. Please, boy."

"Why are we wasting time here?" Theo asks, finally stepping into the cell after me. "We should go, Draco. What if—"

"Draco?" Longbottom repeats. "Draco Malfoy?"

I point my wand at the man. "Now you've done it," I say to Theo. "We'll have to wipe his memory to make sure no one knows we were in here."

"I saw you when you were an infant," Longbottom says. "I… almost killed you."

I smirk, even though I know he can't see it. "That's wonderful," I say. "Now I _really_ want to help you."

"I just… I want to deliver some memories to my son. I want him to know the truth. To know what I was like, what happened to me. For family. You're a Malfoy—surely you understand—"

"Yes, we value family," I say. "But I will not help you."

"I could have killed you," he says. "I could have—"

"Yes, but you didn't. Don't expect me to be thankful. You had a moment of weakness, and that's all. Go on, Theo. I'll finish up here," I say.

"I'll see if there's anyone outside, then," Theo says, backing out of the cell.

I step closer to Longbottom and listen to Theo's footsteps as they fade away. Then I press the tip of my wand to the elder Longbottom's forehead and wait.

The man's eyes widen as he realizes that I'm doing as he asks, and he supplies the desired memories to me. I give him about twenty seconds before drawing out the silvery substance. As gravity carries it downwards, I quickly conjure a small glass vial and store the memories inside.

"Thank you," he mouths.

I pocket the vial and point my wand at him again without responding. "Obliviate."

His eyes glaze over, and I proceed to wipe all memories of our visit. I exit the cell just as Theo returns.

"It's all clear," he says. "Come on."

We leave the secret passageway and exit the Derbyshire dungeons the way we came. At the outskirts of the camp, we Apparate back into my room at the Manor—for convenience, I take Theo straight in so that we won't have to walk across the grounds.

"Well, what did I tell you?" he says, grinning smugly as he removes his Death Eater mask and tosses it on my bed.

I shake my head. "It's hard to believe he's really… recovered," I say. "I'd sooner believe that it was just an impostor."

I take off my cloak and let it drop to the floor and then pull my mask off.

"I'm sick of these damn things," I mutter.

Theo nods his agreement. "I could live without them, that's for sure."

Then Naree appears with a loud crack.

"Master! They're coming—_run!_"

Theo and I exchange surprised glances.

Then the door's blown straight off its hinges, and I dive to the side, taking Theo down with me so that he won't be crushed by the giant projectile hurtling in our direction.

A group of Death Eaters pours into my bedroom.

I immediately attempt to Disapparate, but it's clear that an Anti-Disapparition Jinx has been put up. I Disarm four men and Stun three more before ropes wrap around my ankle, tripping me on my way to the window.

Two loud cracks signal the arrival of two other house-elves on the scene, and as I glance back to fire a few nasty hexes in the direction of my pursuers, I see that Naree's being restrained by two house-elves whom he had formerly considered friends.

I flick my wand, snapping the rope around my ankle, and dive toward the window.

Just as I come into contact with the glass, a Disarming Charm hits me, and my wand flies out of my hand. Fortunately, the force of the spell propels me forward with the last bit of force I need, and I go crashing through the glass window.

As I plummet toward the ground, I remember my lessons from this past week and concentrate furiously on weightlessness—I can do this. I had a good eight hours of sleep, for once. I've got the strength for this.

And then it feels as though my body has dissolved into air particles.

Holy… I've done it.

But I feel my strength draining rapidly, and I know that if I don't reach the outer boundary of the Manor soon, I'm going to run out of energy and fall.

_Destination. Determination. Deliberation._

No, still not clear. How fucking big did they make this boundary?

I rocket forward, dodging some hexes that are being fired from my window, but then a Full Body Bind Curse hits me. Damn.

_Finite Incantatem! Finite Incantatem!_

It isn't working. I've used up too much strength flying—I can't. Fuck. I was _so close_.

I drop straight down toward the ground, but my momentum decreases rapidly, and I'm eventually set on the ground, almost gently.

Then a single set of rapid footsteps reaches me, and I look up to see Aunt Bella looking down at me, almost regretfully.

"Stupefy!"

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, quite a bit happened in this chapter. What do you guys make of it? I'll try not to leave you hanging for too long.


	66. Chapter 66 D

**Author's Note:** I had a long day today, and I really don't feel like working on anything right now. So, lucky for you guys, I've decided to edit a new chapter! Here you go.

**Chapter 66**

I open my eyes and take in my surroundings.

Yeah, this is a dungeon below the Manor.

My wrists and ankles are both chained to the wall behind me, and a thick steel collar around my neck limits the range of motion of my head.

Fuck, I'm doomed.

How did they find out it was me? How did they know? They must have discovered it soon after I left with Theo for Derbyshire—there wasn't an Anti-Disapparition Jinx around the Manor at that time.

Lupin.

I groan. Lupin was released. That must have been it. The traitor in the Order has some nerve, taking—or proposing—a deal like that. They get Lupin back, and I get ratted out.

Too fucking coincidental.

Voldemort's busy in Russia—he said he had something to take care of. Is it too much to hope that he'll be too busy to come back for me?

Yes, it probably is.

The Dark Lord _loathes_ traitors. And if he had such high hopes for me… I'm sure he'll be coming right back, as soon as he hears the news.

He might even be on his way back now.

I should probably just resign myself to fate. I'm going to have hell to pay for this.

And it was all for naught. Granger doesn't even give a damn about me.

I hang my head.

Yes, my godfather and I are going to have even more in common by the time today's over. The only difference will be that he lived a longer life and suffered a less painful death.

Then the door to my cell swings open.

"Mother?" I say.

"I don't have time," she says, flicking her wand several times in quick succession to remove the shackles from my wrists, ankles and neck. "Your father and Bella—I distracted them—bickering like normal, the two of them. I _have_ to get you out of here."

She starts moving out of the cell, and though my legs feel like noodles, I force myself to move quickly.

"I didn't have time to find your wand," she says. "There's an Anti-Disapparition Jinx all around the grounds. Most of the men at the Dark Lord's table have arrived, and they've summoned him. He'll be here in twenty minutes, at the most."

We're heading down the long corridor, and I move as swiftly as I can, trying to keep up with her. I still feel a little weak from my previous exertion.

"Mother, they'll know you released me," I say. "You can't—"

"I _will not_ see my son die before me. I am your mother, and you _will_ respect my wishes," she says firmly.

She pulls open the door at the end of the hall, and we come to an abrupt stop.

"Narcissa, what do you think you're doing?" Father says in a chilling voice.

"What we _both_ should be doing," Mother replies.

Father's livid. "Do you want to get us all killed?" he hisses.

He gives Mother a hard shove, throwing her back into me, and I barely manage to keep both of us on our feet. Father steps into the corridor and seals the door behind him.

"You're not going anywhere. Try anything, and I'll kill you," he says.

Mother glares at him and takes a step forward, away from me. "Kill me?" she says, _really_ challenging him for the first time. "After all this time, you think you'll _kill_ me? All right, then. Kill me. If our son dies because of you, I won't want to live with you anymore, anyway."

Then there's a series of bangs on the door.

Father glances back, distracted, and Mother takes the opportunity to fire a hex at him. But Father's reflexes are too quick, and he blocks the attack just in time.

"How _dare_ you turn your wand against me!" he roars.

They exchange a few curses, and I back farther into the dungeons as they move inward. I want to help, but it'd be too easy to hurt Mother if she accidentally moved into the way. I've never seen my parents dueling like this, and I almost can't believe my eyes.

With a wave of his wand, Father throws Mother against a wall. Her wand clatters to the ground as she grasps at her neck, and it becomes clear to me that she's suffocating.

I lunge at Father, but he tosses me back as well. I collide painfully with the stone wall, but at least Mother's been released—she slumps to the ground, clutching her neck and trying to catch her breath.

I try to throw off the hold Father has over me, but I could never beat him while I was wandless.

Then the door is blasted straight off its hinges, and an absolutely furious Aunt Bella stands in the opening. She takes in the sight of Mother, gasping for air on the ground, and me, getting back to my feet—the explosion distracted Father enough for him to release me.

"I warned you, Lucius," Aunt Bella says coldly, stepping into the hallway.

No, she wouldn't. Surely, she can't off someone who sits at the Dark Lord's table without his permission. But then again, I didn't hesitate when I had to kill Yaxley.

"Drop your wand," Aunt Bella says.

Father's wand is still pointed in my direction, and instead of loosening his grip, his hand clenches around his weapon. "If you kill me, I'm taking my boy with me."

The spell comes over me again, and I suddenly can't move.

Fuck!

_Finite Incantatem_.

No effect.

"You'll be dead before you can think the words, you foul man," Aunt Bella snarls.

When Father still doesn't lower his wand, I see the shift in Aunt Bella's expression, the one that means she's about to kill. Bloody…

"Avada—"

The word is cut off by Mother's loud scream, and a flash of green light blinds me momentarily.

Then silence.

I feel like all the air has been sucked out of the room.

Mother's still body lies at Father's feet.

I take a tiny step forward, away from the wall. This can't be real. This can't be happening.

Then I realize that I can move and shift my gaze upward. Father's wand is no longer pointed at me. My eyes flit to Aunt Bella's face to see a genuinely horrified expression.

But then all emotion is wiped away, and she points her wand at Father again. "This is _your_ fault," she hisses wrathfully.

"_You're_ the one who _killed_ her!" Father replies, his voice shaking with fury.

"Draco, leave. Now!" Aunt Bella says.

I don't understand why she's telling me to leave—surely she doesn't truly intend to set me free. But my body seems to respond of its own accord. I move toward the exit, numb, unable to look at Mother's body. I pass by Aunt Bella and head for the door, unable to register what has just occurred.

Mother… how could you…?

Then I hear that word again, coming from Aunt Bella's mouth.

In a flash, I realize what's about to happen, realize that history is about to repeat itself. I whirl around in time to see a jet of green light erupt from the tip of Aunt Bella's wand.

_No_.

I lift my hand and shove my palm out toward Aunt Bella. She's lifted clear off her feet and thrown to the side, just as the curse rebounds toward her.

The strength it takes to magically lift and throw my aunt almost makes me drop to my knees.

Before I have time to recover, a Full Body Bind Curse hits me, and I collapse, stiff as a board.

Then Father's standing over me.

"Your mother is _dead_ because of you," he says.

I can only glare up at him. It's _his_ fault, not mine!

Then I'm levitated and placed back in the cell. He doesn't even bother to chain me up before slamming the door shut. I suppose it's because the Dark Lord will be here so soon that I won't be able to recover enough strength to free myself anyway.

I hear Aunt Bella and Father exchanging cold words outside, but I can't make them out.

And I realize that I don't _care_.

Mother is gone.

She's never coming back.

She'd brought me up to believe in all the wrong things. She'd stood by and sobbed silently every time Father tortured me. But she loves—_loved_—me. Her last wish was to get me out of here alive.

It seems like I should be feeling much worse, but there's only this strange, empty void.

I want to think about something else, anything else.

Voldemort will be here in a few minutes, and I'll be done for. It'll be over.

Everything will be over.

Suddenly, that doesn't sound like such a bad thing.

Then, I hear the cell door swing open for the second time.

The Full Body Bind Curse is lifted, and I sit up and turn to see—

"Aunt Bella."

She clenches her jaw. "I… owe you. For saving my life."

I chuckle humorlessly. "Stupid, wasn't it? You'd just killed my mother—your _sister_. If I'd just let you die, I could be free right now."

"And you will be," she says.

A Disillusionment Charm settles over me, and I swallow hard. Is she _really_ about to do this? I find it impossible to believe that she would ever betray her beloved Dark Lord.

"Follow me, and do _not_ get left behind," she instructs me. "I will not wait for you."

With that, she sweeps out of the cell. I race after her, snatching Mother's wand from the ground as I pass. I push away that empty void—I can mourn later, if I live through this.

I follow Aunt Bella upstairs rapidly, adrenaline keeping me light of foot and alert.

"What happened down there?" Mulciber asks.

"The boy is missing," Aunt Bella says. "Narcissa set him free. I already sent Lucius to look for him—he knows this Manor better than anyone else."

"We'll keep our eyes open, then," Mulciber says.

"Secure the perimeter—we can't have him escaping before the Dark Lord arrives," Macnair says.

"Crabbe! Goyle! Come with me," Aunt Bella says. "We'll cover the boundaries."

The elder Nott speaks up. "I think you should stay here, Bellatrix."

"Do you think I should care what _you_ think, Nott?"

"You were the one who noticed the escape," Mulciber points out. "The Dark Lord will want—"

"_Don't_ tell me what to do, Mulciber," Aunt Bella says, the murderous tone in her voice keeping the others in check. "Surely, you know better than that."

The men are silent.

"Crabbe! Goyle! We're leaving."

She exits the room swiftly, and I shadow her footsteps. The four of us exit the Manor and move through the grounds quickly.

"Split up," Aunt Bella says. "I'll go westward, and you two take the eastern side. Stay alert."

Greg and Vince's fathers hurry away without complaint.

Aunt Bella moves along the perimeter until the bulky men are out of sight, and I continue to follow her, unsure of whether or not the Anti-Disapparition Jinx extends farther past the boundaries of the Manor.

Then she stops and turns around. "Draco, before you leave—give me Cissy's wand."

I hesitate before holding the wand out to her, tapping her elbow with it, since she can't see me. She swiftly catches my wrist, takes Mother's wand, and thrusts my own wand into my hand.

I'm about to Disapparate, but I pause. I have to know.

"Aunt Bella—Dark Lord first, family second. You—"

"After tonight, you are no family of mine. You are as dead as Cissy, to me."

I blink a few times. The words hurt far more than I ever would have expected them to.

"Bye, Aunt Bella."

Her hand still lingers on my wrist and slowly slides upward, pushing my sleeve back until she reaches the spot on my forearm where she knows the Dark Mark is located. Her thumb rubs lightly over that place, and I glance up to see that her face is pained, mirroring the emotions that are welling up inside me.

"Bye, Draco," she murmurs softly.

Ever so slowly, her grip loosens, and I pull my arm back, passing my wand to my right hand. I take another look at her face and see that it's become impassive.

Then her wand's pointed in my direction.

"Sectumsempra!"

Invisible swords slash at my chest and arms. I take two steps backward to take myself outside of the boundary. Clenching my wand tightly in my fist, I focus with all my might on going home.

I get another glance at Aunt Bella's face as the constricting sensation of Apparition comes over me.

In that last moment, I could have sworn I saw a tear slip from her eye.


	67. Chapter 67 H

**Author's Note:** The past few days have been pretty busy for me because I've been trying to get everything done super early. And the reason for that is because I'm going to Show's concert tomorrow night! Yaaaaaay! :D Those of you who don't know who Show Luo is (and I'm quite certain that this applies to most of you, since he isn't exactly well-known outside Asian countries, I think)… well, then this doesn't mean much to you. But I don't think he's ever performed in the US before, so I'm extremely excited.

Yep, that had absolutely nothing to do with the chapter. Just felt like sharing! Heehee (:

**Chapter 67**

I gently rap my knuckles against the door to the infirmary and wait.

A moment later, one of the doors is pulled open.

"Oh hello, Hermione," Tonks says.

"Hello, Hermione," Teddy echoes, peeking out from behind his mother's leg.

I smile down at the boy. "Hello there, Teddy."

He blushes adorably and hides behind Tonks' leg again.

"Did you need anything?" Tonks asks me.

"Well… no, not really. I just wanted to see if you were all right. And if you knew about whether or not Lupin…"

"Yes?"

"Whether or not it's the real him. I'm really sorry—I forgot to check."

Tonks smiles grimly. "It's him. I know it is," she says.

"That's a relief to hear," I say.

"I guess I never thanked you for bringing him back. Thank you, Hermione."

I shake my head. "It wasn't really my doing. Malfoy was the one who handed him over to me."

Tonks bites her lip. "Looks like I'm eating my words, then. He probably had to take some risks to get Remus back to us. I'll have to apologize to him, if I ever see him again."

"Dora?"

Tonks immediately turns back. "Yes?"

"Is it… is that Hermione?"

Tonks moves back into the room, gesturing for me to enter. "Yes it is, Remus."

I tentatively step into the hospital wing and see that Lupin's still lying on the same cot that Tonks and Neville had eased him onto several minutes ago. Tonks moves back toward him and takes a seat on the edge of his bed.

"I saw Mundungus," Lupin says.

He seems to be much more level-headed than he was when I first saw him at Spinner's End. I'm grateful that Madam Pomfrey was able to do something for him.

"Where?" I ask. "Was he free?"

"He was in the cell next to mine. I saw them take him out of his cell and past mine. I don't know where they took him, but he never came back."

I look at Tonks. "I haven't heard anything about him. Have you?"

Tonks shakes her head. "No one at Hogwarts has heard from him."

"Do you think they killed him?" I ask Lupin.

"If they did, he certainly deserved it," Tonks says.

Teddy pats her leg a few times, and she leans down to take him into her lap.

"Mummy," he says shyly, "when can we go home?"

"We can't, Teddy," Tonks says softly. "This is home, now. Remember?"

Teddy pouts, and Tonks looks at him with a stern expression.

"We've talked about this, Teddy," she says. "Really, really bad people are waiting for us to go home, so we can't go back anymore. This is our new home."

"Patience, Dora," Lupin says. "Teddy, we'll go home when Daddy gets better, all right?"

"Remus, don't _lie_—"

"Daddy's going to go home and scare all the bad people away so that we can all go back. What do you say?"

A smile lights up the toddler's face at the possibility of returning home, but I can only feel sorrow. One look at Tonks' face tells me that she feels the same way. In all likelihood, Teddy won't get to go home for a long time. Not while the Death Eaters know its location.

Teddy fixes wide eyes on his mother's face. "Mummy, Daddy says—"

"Yes, Mummy heard," Tonks replies. "Mummy was wrong this time. Daddy's right. We'll be home soon."

She smiles valiantly, but the emotion doesn't quite reach her eyes. Fortunately, Teddy's too young to notice the hints of sadness in his mother's face.

"Could you take Teddy to your parents, Dora?" Lupin asks.

Tonks' eyes flit to her husband's face, and she frowns.

"I just need a word with Hermione," he adds.

Tonks nods. "Of course. Don't strain yourself, Remus. Madam Pomfrey said—"

"Yes, I know," Lupin says.

"All right, then. I'll come back in a few minutes."

She takes Teddy out of the room and turns to pull the door shut, pausing to smile briefly at me.

"Hermione?" Lupin says.

I turn back and take a few steps toward him. "Yes?"

"Is there something I should know about that's going on between you and Malfoy?" he asks.

I frown. "No, of course not."

"What was it that I saw in Snape's old house, then?"

"I thought you weren't—"

"Lucid? It comes and goes," Lupin says sadly. "I think I'm going insane. I don't know if Poppy will be able to help me."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I say.

"Yes, but there's nothing more to be done. However, I do remember what I saw when I wasn't in my right mind. Thinking back on your conversation, I feel that there is something you should tell us about your relationship with Malfoy."

I shake my head. "There's nothing going on, but I don't see how that's any of your business."

I'm with Ron, anyway. Why would he be worried about Draco? But then again, he can't know about Ron yet. Hardly anyone knows.

"Of course it is," he says. "You are his contact. If there's anything personal going on, it could affect his decisions regarding whether or not to give us information. What if he holds a grudge and chooses to betray us?"

I suppose I hadn't thought about it that way.

"What happened between the two of you?" he prods.

I sigh. "It's nothing. I can handle it," I say. "I'll talk to him the first chance I get."

"I think it'd be best for us to choose a different contact for him," Lupin says. "I don't want anything between you to compromise the information that we get from him."

"It won't, I promise," I insist.

Why am I so bent on working with Draco? It doesn't really matter to me _that_ much… does it? But I don't really like the idea of him working with someone else. It's a strange thought, seeing as I don't even feel anything for him anymore.

Maybe it _would_ be better if we spent some time apart, especially since he doesn't seem to want to talk to me.

Lupin frowns. "That's not for you to decide."

"But if Malfoy and I can sort things out, it won't be a problem anymore, is that right?" I ask.

He nods slowly. "It'd probably be best if you two could reach an understanding, but somehow that doesn't seem possible. Not from what I saw at Spinner's End, at least."

"I'll let you know if anything needs to be changed. You trust my judgment, don't you?"

"Tentatively," he replies with a small smile. "I think it'd be better if you told Minerva though, rather than me. I was half wolf already, and now I'm half mad."

He chuckles weakly, and I shake my head.

"Don't say that. Madam Pomfrey should be able to do _something_ for you," I say.

Then the door opens, and the nurse enters.

"Yes, I may be able to help Remus, but not if you keep pestering him," she says to me.

"Poppy, she wasn't—" Lupin begins.

"It's all right," I interrupt. "I should probably go now anyway."

As I speak the words, I remember that Ron's probably waiting for me back at the house. How could I have forgotten about him?

"Take care, Hermione," Lupin says.

"I will."

I turn away and leave the hospital wing, passing by Madam Pomfrey in the process. She gives me a disapproving look but doesn't comment.

I make my way quickly through the castle, and a minute later, I'm walking through the grounds toward the nearest Apparition Point.

As I pass by Hagrid's hut, I wonder what's become of him. Last I heard, he had gone to France to support Madame Maxime and her followers against the Death Eaters who were after them. Beauxbatons fell to Voldemort's forces shortly after Hogwarts did, and Madame Maxime and her students have been fighting to free France ever since.

I wonder if they've heard that Hogwarts is ours again.

Then I cross the boundary and Disapparate. I appear in the living room of the cottage and see all three boys sitting on the couches, waiting—Ron must have woken up the other two after I left.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming back," Ron says worriedly.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" Harry asks.

"Yes, I'm fine. Lupin's alive," I report.

Relieved smiles break out across Harry and Ron's faces. Blaise still looks solemn, and I wonder what's wrong with him. Is he still bothered by Ron and me?

Harry hops to his feet. "We should—"

"He's not in a good state," I say before they can get too excited. "Madam Pomfrey won't let anyone near him, except for Tonks and their family, of course."

"Do you know how he escaped?" Blaise asks.

"I don't," I say, shaking my head.

Some of the same guilt rises to the surface again—how could I have been so thoughtless?

"All he really said was that he escaped, and…" my voice fades.

"And?" Harry prods apprehensively.

"He said that he bit Alicia," I say.

All three boys look disappointed and saddened by the news. I suppose we all should have known that something like this would happen when the full moon came and went, and we still had no word from Draco on Lupin's potential whereabouts.

But to know that it actually happened is another matter.

Ron steps over to me and takes my hand. I look up at him to see a reassuring smile on his face, and again I begin to crave that feeling of satisfaction that I get whenever he kisses me.

"Sit down, Hermione," Harry says as he sits back down on the couch. "Naree brought a new book for you while you were gone."

Ron looks away from me, and I feel disappointed. Frowning, I move over to the couch, sit beside Harry, and pick up the new book from its spot on the coffee table. Ron takes his seat in the armchair and flashes another quick smile at me before picking up his own book.

I wish he would look back up at me again…

* * *

"I still don't think it's really Dark magic, Hermione," Blaise says, shaking his head.

I frown. "So you think it's all right to share minds like that? You wouldn't mind allowing someone into your head and sharing your thoughts and defenses with them?"

"If it's the right person, then no, I wouldn't mind," he replies.

"But that's not it," I say. "You can make that argument about the Imperius Curse, can't you? You could simply say that allowing the correct person to control you wouldn't be a problem."

"This spell clearly doesn't do the same thing, though," Blaise argues. "The host can still sever the connection, which means that this is mutual. It's not forced. How does that make it a Dark spell?"

"I do see Blaise's point," Harry says. "I think it's on the borderline of being considered a Dark spell."

"Read the description again, Harry," I say.

Harry sighs. "Again?"

"Yes, again."

He clears his throat and begins to read, "'Communimency is a skill, less well-known and much easier to master than its two brothers, that allows the practitioner to enter his target's mind. The practitioner will experience everything as his target does, and he can, to some extent, control the actions of—'"

"That isn't Dark enough for you?" I interrupt, looking at Blaise. "I'm fairly certain that most witches and wizards would agree that a spell that gives someone control over another person to _any_ extent should be considered a form of Dark magic."

Blaise shrugs. "It doesn't seem like such an awful thing to me, that's all I'm trying to say. Besides, you interrupted Harry before he got to the good part. Any powers that a practitioner has, namely Occlumency, will transfer over to his target, if he so wishes. Why is that so horrible?"

"Well, consider this. What if a target wants to be freed and is trying to open his mind to a Legilimens who has the capability of freeing him? The practitioner could use Occlumency to keep the target's mind shut down so that the Legilimens has no idea what's going on," I reason.

"Yes, but that's just one scenario."

"One scenario is enough, don't you think?"

"Think about the benefits, though," Blaise says. "You know that Harry's an awful Occlumens—"

"Gee thanks, Blaise," Harry says, grinning.

"—but if you chose to use Communimency on him," Blaise continues without acknowledging Harry, "you could extend your skill in Occlumency over his mind and help protect him."

"Still, that's a major invasion of privacy," I say. "I'm sure Harry wouldn't want me reading his every thought."

Harry winces. "Yeah, that wouldn't be so fun."

"But what if you were facing off against Voldemort and you didn't want him inside your head?" Blaise asks Harry.

"Then I doubt having a bit of help from me would do any good," I say. "I haven't ever come face-to-face with him the way Harry has, and I'm pretty sure I'll panic."

"I don't think so," Harry says. "You need to give yourself some more credit. I've never seen you break down in high-stress situations. On second thought, maybe it _would_ be helpful to have you there…"

"But it'd be distracting to have me in your head, wouldn't it?" I say.

"Actually, it wouldn't," Harry replies. "It says farther down on the page that the target will barely be aware of the practitioner's presence. And the target can't access any of the practitioner's thoughts, not unless the practitioner wants to share his thoughts."

"What, so do you think Communimency shouldn't be considered Dark magic, either?" I ask.

"I'm not sure. Like I said, it's on the borderline," Harry says.

"He's just saying that to humor you. He's on my side, obviously," Blaise says.

I shake my head. "I can't agree with you there. Giving up control over my mind… I would never be able to do it, no matter how little the practitioner could influence me."

"Well, it _does_ say that the target can force out the practitioner if he has the strength of will to do it," Harry says. "Communimency is easier to master than Occlumency or Legilimency, so naturally, it's easier to overcome as well."

"There you go," Blaise says. "It's not—"

"Yes, but with enough so-called 'strength of will', people can also resist the Imperius Curse. That doesn't mean it isn't a form of Dark magic," I reply.

"But that's different. The Imperius Curse gives control over _everything_. The strength it takes to overcome that is monumental. Communimency can't be that difficult to throw off, if the practitioner only has to cast the spell and have the most basic grasp of Legilimency," Blaise says.

I open my mouth to rebut his argument, but I'm interrupted by the popping sound of Apparition.

Draco appears on the ground in front of the coffee table, beside Ron's empty armchair. Blood spurts from several wounds on his chest, and he seems barely conscious.

Blaise is the first to react—he leaps to his feet, hops over the coffee table and drops to his knees at Draco's side. Harry and I stand up as well and move toward Draco. The kitchen door opens, and I look over to see that Ron's come into the living room.

I start to feel conflicted. Should I check if Draco's all right, or should I go to stand by Ron?

Harry's squatting next to Blaise, and both boys have their wands out, working to stop the bleeding. Well, Ron's not in any danger right now, so logic says that I should help Draco.

But as I move toward him, a hand wraps around mine, and I glance down to see that Ron's holding me back.

"Let me help him," I say softly.

Ron frowns at me, and I immediately feel contrite. I bite my lip, unable to understand my reaction. I look back at the boys and see that Blaise has done the job well, and Draco looks a lot better already.

Harry's back on his feet, looking at me. "Why aren't you helping, Hermione?" he asks.

"Blaise has it under control," I say. "You aren't helping either."

Blaise glances up at me with one of his unreadable expressions but doesn't comment.

"We should probably move him into his bedroom," Harry suggests, moving to the door and pushing it open.

As Blaise levitates Draco's body and walks him into his bedroom, Ron tugs on my hand. I let him lead me into the backyard without complaint.

Once we're alone, he turns around to face me.

"Did you ever like him? Malfoy?" he demands.

I frown. I know Ron will be upset if I admit that I thought…

"Please be honest," he says.

"All right, I might have thought that I could have feelings for him," I admit. "But they're gone—completely gone. I don't feel anything when I see him now."

He looks displeased despite my clarification that I don't feel anything for Draco anymore, and I take a step closer to him.

"Ron… don't be mad at me," I say. "Please?"

Ron closes his eyes and releases my hand. I look down and see that he's balled both of his hands into fists. His anger only makes me feel worse, and a knot forms at the pit of my stomach.

I reach up and pull his face down to give him a light kiss. "I'm sorry, Ron," I murmur. "But it's all gone, I promise. It was only because he saved me so many times. Anyone would have been touched."

Still he doesn't respond, and I start to feel hurt. Maybe I should have lied to him after all. He's taking this really, really badly.

Then Blaise opens the door. "I wondered where you two had gone," he says. "Come back inside. I know the garden's protected, but it still makes me nervous to see you standing outside."

Ron and I reenter the house, and Blaise shuts the door.

"I can't wait until Malfoy wakes up," Harry says. "We need to find out what happened to him."

"Someone might have given him away—it might be the same person who let Mundungus escape," I say.

"I didn't—" Ron begins.

"Yes, we know it wasn't you, Weasley," Blaise says. "Calm down."

"I really hope he wasn't discovered. If he was, how are we ever going to know what Voldemort's up to?" Harry says.

"Well, we made it without him in the past," Ron says.

"Wait—Malfoy's in the house," I realize. "We should probably get out of the living room, in case Nott decides to Floo him again."

"Right," Blaise says. He starts toward Draco's room. "We should probably come in here—we'll want to speak with him as soon as he wakes up."

Harry follows Blaise into the room. I move toward Draco's room as well, but Ron seems reluctant to budge. I tug on his hand gently, and he follows me inside begrudgingly. I sit down on the bed that Ginny had slept on when she was staying here, and Ron sits beside me. Harry's sitting on a newly conjured chair, and Blaise is perched on the side of Draco's bed.

Harry waves his wand once, and our books come flying in from the living room. I catch the book that I'd been reading and flip it to the correct page.

Then I glance up at Blaise, wondering if he wants to resume our previous discussion. But he's watching Draco closely. I don't understand what he could possibly get out of watching his best friend sleep. It's not as though Legilimency works on an unconscious target. And if it did, I wouldn't be surprised if Draco had worked out a way to perform Occlumency even in his sleep.

Suppressing the intellectual side of me that wants to continue our debate, I turn my eyes back down to the page that I'd been reading before Harry had interrupted us with the description of Communimency.

* * *

Sometime later, a word slips from Draco's lips, one that sounds suspiciously like "Granger."

My head shoots up, but it seems that Draco is still unconscious. Harry and Ron are staring at me, and after verifying that Draco indeed has not awakened, Blaise turns his head in my direction as well.

I drop my eyes back to the page, willing them to look away from me.

The look on Ron's face when Draco murmured my name made me feel absolutely dreadful, but hearing Draco call for me in his sleep… in that moment, I felt a strange twinge in my chest.

I can't help but wonder what it is.

* * *

**Author's Note:** In case you're wondering why Draco isn't dying, it's because Aunt Bella didn't mean to kill him. She only meant to maim or seriously injure ;)

And yeah, I made up Communimency for fun. Maybe I'll find some use for it later...


	68. Chapter 68 D

**Author's Note:** So, this update is coming sooner than I'd originally planned because I keep getting questions about the love potion (if you haven't figured this much out already, I'm sorry for the spoiler, but I'm sure that most of you know by now that Hermione isn't herself) and I just wanted to address everyone's concerns at the same time.

In my bit of research on Love Potions in the HP universe, I found that most of them last only about a day. I decided to make this one last three full days because it worked best with the plot that I had planned out. And in story time, it hasn't been three days yet since the potion was administered.

Day 1: Chapter 60/61

Night of Day 2: Chapter 62/63

Early morning of Day 3: Chapter 64/65/66/67

I realize that you're impatient to see Hermione snap out of it, and believe me when I say that I probably enjoyed writing this part of the story just as much as you enjoyed reading it.

**Chapter 68**

"If you hold my hand, Draco, I'm going to slug you."

I open my eyes. "Blaise."

"Yeah, it's me," he says. "What the hell happened to you?"

I sit up slowly and look around at the people in my room. Blaise is sitting on the edge of my bed. Potter's in a chair, and Weasley and Granger are both parked on the extra bed.

My eyes rest on Granger for a moment, and I see that she's holding hands with Weasley. I close my eyes as bitterness sets in.

Why do I still care about those two?

Mother's dead. Aunt Bella's stated outright that we aren't family anymore. Father… Father disowned me when he put me back in that cell.

"Draco—mate, what's wrong?" Blaise asks.

"My cover's blown," I say. Ignoring the looks of surprise on their faces, I continue, "It wasn't anything that I did, as far as I can tell. I'm pretty sure it happened on your end."

"Shit," Potter says. "What happened? How did you get away?"

"Does it matter?" I reply. "I got away. That's the important thing."

"It _does_ matter. Something else must have—"

"Shut up, Blaise," I interrupt him. "I don't need you to butt into my business."

"Do you have any idea who the traitor on our side might be?" Granger asks.

I resist the urge to wince at the sound of her voice. She still affects me too much, and I hate it. Even though I'm carefully keeping my eyes away from her, I'm still extremely aware of her presence and her position at the weasel's side.

"I do have a clue," I admit. "But I have to check it alone. I don't want all of you in here."

"What's the clue, and why can't we be in on it?" Potter asks.

"Because I want to be sure before I accuse anyone. I'm not going to put up with your expressions of disbelief if I'm not absolutely certain of his identity."

"Your request is suspicious though," Granger says. "You can't reasonably ask us to leave so that you can examine some piece of evidence and expect that we won't ask you anything about it."

"I think you've all forgotten whose house this is," I say. "I can ask you to do whatever I want you to do. This is still my home, and I _can_ turn you out."

"How?" the weasel pipes up. "It's not as if you can fight us all off."

"We're not going to be fighting," Potter says immediately.

"Good. Then get out," I say, gesturing toward the exit.

Blaise has been sitting silently, keeping his eyes on my face. I've done my best to avoid his searching gaze, but I decide it's finally time to look at him. He can help.

I meet his deep brown eyes and try to make him understand that they _have_ to leave the room.

"Trust me," I say, sure that he'll understand that I'm speaking to him alone. "I know what I'm doing."

"We can't just trust you because you say to," Weasley says.

"Shut up, Weasley," Blaise says. He finally looks away from me and gets to his feet. "Let's go."

The weasel glares at my friend. "Since when did we have to listen to you?"

"Do you want to know who the traitor is or not?" Blaise replies. "This isn't about your or me. It's about the safety of the Order. The sooner we find out, the better. If Draco really needs some time on his own to verify the traitor's identity, we should give it to him."

"But… Harry—"

Potter gets to his feet, looking at me. "Fine, we'll go. But if you try to pull anything…"

"What could I possibly do to you? And why would I bother? If I wanted to kill you, I could have had Naree come here and slit your throats in your sleep," I say.

"That doesn't help your case," Blaise says to me.

Potter starts toward the door. "Come on, guys."

Granger stands up and tugs lightly on Weasley's hand, and I have to avert my eyes again. I hear them move toward the exit and feel relieved when they're out of the room.

"Blaise," I say.

He turns around on his way to the door. "Yes?"

"Bring me the stone basin that's beneath the sink in the bathroom."

He nods and leaves the room wordlessly. A moment later, he returns with the basin and places it on my bedside table.

"I trust you, Draco. Don't betray that trust," he says in a low voice.

His thinly veiled threat stings me. I've never betrayed him. I've never even spoken ill of him. He was the one who turned his back on me, on everything that we'd agreed upon.

"You're one to talk," I say.

His eyes widen a fraction before narrowing. Then he flicks his wand, and the door swings shut, giving us some privacy.

"I was right, and you know it. Otherwise, you wouldn't be working with us now," he hisses.

"That doesn't mean you didn't betray my trust," I respond coolly.

I watch as he clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath to calm himself.

"You were right," he finally says in a detached voice. "It's impossible to forget scars like these."

And he's back.

"You can leave now," I say.

But he doesn't move, and I observe his face, looking for any hint of emotion. But of course, being Blaise Zabini, nothing's visible on the surface. I can only sense that he's conflicted.

When he finally speaks, his voice is much softer than I'm accustomed to.

"It'll never be the same, will it?"

I hide my surprise. He's revealing his uncertainty to me, sharing his fear with me. Best mates we may have been, but we were still Slytherins. Though I knew his thoughts and concerns and he knew mine, we rarely offered to share them without prompting from the opposite party.

I shake my head, deciding on the painful truth. "No."

He clenches his jaw again, looking at the ground. "I wish…"

"Me too."

His eyes flit up to meet mine, and I feel like he's aged so much. From the look in his eyes, he thinks the same of me. If I'd known then what I know now, I would have forgiven him. I would not have chosen to join him—at the time, I couldn't have let my family die for that—but at least we wouldn't have had to fight. In the end, I suppose Mother had to die anyway.

Not going to think about that.

"I'll go, then," Blaise says. "Bye."

"Bye, mate."

He exits the room and pulls the door shut behind him.

I reach into my robes and notice that they're clean and mended—I can't see the places where Aunt Bella's spell hit me. For a brief moment, I think that it might have been Granger, but she doesn't really care about me.

It was Blaise. He was sitting beside me when I woke. Yes, it was him.

I take out the small vial and pause. I can't afford to let any of them come in while I'm still occupied.

With a jolt, I realize that I left Naree behind. I've just been labeled a traitor—without a doubt, Naree has been imprisoned as well. Fuck!

"Naree!" I call out.

He appears instantly with a loud crack and falls to the ground. His pillowcase, usually crisp and white, is stained all over with blood. I'm willing to bet that it's _his_ blood.

Alarmed, I sit up straighter and start to get out of bed, but he holds up a hand and gets to his feet. He shakes his head a few times as though to clear his mind.

"I'm so sorry," I say, settling back against the headboard.

"It is okay," Naree says, looking up at me with his large eyes. "Naree will heal on his own, slowly."

"I'll make you a Blood-Replenishing Potion when I'm done with this," I say, holding up the vial.

"No—Master cannot—"

"Don't argue this. You're injured."

The house-elf nods meekly. "Naree is most grateful for Master's kindness."

"I just need one favor, if you're feeling up to it," I say.

"Anything for Master."

"Make sure that they don't come in here until I'm done. And no matter what they say, don't tell them what I'm doing," I instruct him. "I don't want them to know any more than they have to."

Naree nods. "Naree can do it, Master. Naree will guard the door."

He hobbles to my bedroom door and sits with his back against it, a determined look on his face.

"Thanks, Naree. Again."

He nods eagerly and gives me a wide smile. Then he goes about tending to his own wounds.

I pull out my wand and tap it against the side of the basin, muttering a spell that will allow it to function as a Pensieve.

This was something that my godfather showed me when I jokingly protested his claim that he'd always given me special gifts for my birthdays. He took my accusation seriously and decided to prove to me the value of the stone basins that he'd given me.

I wish I could thank him properly, but it's already too late for that.

I extract the silvery memories from the vial and let them fall into the makeshift Pensieve. They swirl about lazily, and I stare at them for a moment, wondering what I'll see.

Then I lower my face to the swirling contents and plunge in.


	69. Chapter 69

**Author's Note:** I am feeling very stressed out right now. My first midterm is the coming Monday, and I feel like I don't know much of the material. First round of midterms is going to last three weeks. Then I'll have a one-week break before the second round starts up. Blegh. And because I like to torture myself, I have a new job on the side. These are my justifications for being unable to post as frequently as I'd like. Sigh.

Recognize these lyrics?

"I wanted you to know that I love the way you laugh. I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away."

They're from the very pretty song that I am currently listening to (: Yep, I get easily distracted when I'm tired.

Anyway, I feel like this segment takes a bit of a detour from the rest of the story, but I just really wanted to include it. Hope you don't mind too much! And if you do… sorry about that! We'll be back on track soon(ish)… ;)

**Chapter 69**

"Hi there!"

I turn toward the voice and see a mousy-haired girl, about my age, with huge, round eyes and a bright smile.

"My name's Alice. What's yours?"

I smile back at her. "Frank. Nice to meet you, Alice."

"Do you know what House you want to be in yet?"

"Well… my parents were both in Gryffindor, so I think I want to be, too."

Alice's smile gets impossibly wider. "Ooh, I want to be in Gryffindor, too!"

"Oh dear Merlin, Alice, will you stop squealing?"

I turn toward the voice and see a girl with shiny, black hair and very dark eyes.

"Hello, Bellatrix," Alice says, stepping closer to me and leaning a bit to the side so that she can see the newcomer. From the tone of her voice, she doesn't like this Bellatrix.

I smile at her anyway—Mum told me that I should make lots of friends, and that I shouldn't judge someone before getting to know them.

Instead of smiling back, Bellatrix says, "So, you want to be a Gryffindor? Well, isn't that grand? I already know I'll be in Slytherin, and I'm proud of it."

"You can't know that," I say, frowning.

"Sure, I can," she says matter-of-factly. "I'm from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and—"

"_Oh_, you're Bellatrix Black!" I exclaim before I can stop myself.

I can't believe I didn't notice before—it's not as though "Bellatrix" is a common name. How many more Bellatrixes can there be?

She grins. "So you _have_ heard of me. Good."

"Bellatrix, leave him alone," Alice says.

"I'm not bullying him, am I?" Bellatrix replies. She focuses her attention on me again. "So, what's your name?"

"Frank."

"Last name."

"Longbottom."

"Oh, I've heard of your family. You're pure-blood. That's good—we can be friends."

I smile. Despite what Mum told me about the Blacks, Bellatrix doesn't seem so nasty. She even wants to be friends. And she's rather nice to look at… like a princess.

Alice grabs my hand. "Frank, we should stay away from the likes of her. Come on."

She starts to drag me toward the nearest compartment of the train, away from Bellatrix. I pull my hand out of her grasp and stop walking, and she turns to look at me, perplexed. I turn around to face Bellatrix.

"I _would_ like to be your friend, Bellatrix," I say.

"Call me Bella."

I smile. "Bella."

"Well, then. I'll see you around," she says before turning around and walking in the opposite direction.

Alice gets a hold of my hand again and pulls me into an empty compartment.

"Why would you say you want to be friends with _her?_" she asks me. "Her family is the worst kind. Really, _really_ awful. Haven't you heard of how they treat Muggles?"

"She seemed pretty friendly to me," I say.

"Only after she made sure you were a pure-blood, of course," Alice points out.

I frown, unhappy with what Alice is saying about Bella.

* * *

I race down the hall and duck behind a suit of armor just as a spell rockets past me. I point my wand out and shout, "Expelliarmus!"

"Come out, come out, little Gryffindor! Come out and play!"

I groan—I must have missed, or he'd be cursing up a storm. I should have known Lestrange would come after me.

I jump out from behind the metal figure. "Impedimenta!"

The older Slytherin blocks my spell with minimal effort and flicks his wand at me almost lazily.

"Tarantallegra."

My legs start moving uncontrollably, and I try to force them to stand still. Lestrange bursts into laughter, and my cheeks redden. I point my wand at him, intending to use a Pimple Jinx on him, but he barks a spell that I don't recognize, and my hands start to swell enormously.

Then there's a loud bang, and Lestrange is thrown backwards, landing on his arse.

My legs finally stop moving, but I can't even hold onto my wand anymore.

"Come on—hospital wing."

I recognize the voice as belonging to Bella, and I glance to my left in time to see her stepping up to me. She grips my elbow and starts leading me down the hall.

As we pass by Lestrange, his hand shoots out and grabs Bella's ankle. I expect her to tell him off, but she kicks him away and pauses to stomp on his nose instead. I wince—that looks like it must have hurt…

* * *

"Oh Frank, are you all right?" Alice asks.

"They're still a little swollen," I say, looking down at my bandaged hands. "That was one nasty hex."

Alice frowns and reaches over to touch one of my hands gently. Three hours have already passed since Lestrange attacked me, but my hands are still sore and a little swollen.

"You know, Bella saved me."

She glares at me. "It's _her_ fault you're in all this trouble, anyway. She _should_ have helped you."

"It wasn't her fault," I argue. "_I_ kissed _her_. I didn't know that he was watching."

Alice sighs. "Why would you kiss her anyway?"

"Alice, we've been through this a thousand times. It's been five years, and she hasn't killed anyone. I don't see what your problem is."

"I just worry. I don't want you to turn into… one of those snobby prats who thinks he's elite just because both of his parents happen to have pure blood."

Then the door to the hospital wing opens, and I smile at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Badmouthing me again, are you? Do you have nothing better to do?"

Alice looks over at the dark-haired girl who's moving toward us. "You need to control your boyfriend."

"He never was my boyfriend, and I'd appreciate it if you'd stop spreading rumors like that," Bella says coldly, stopping in her tracks.

"I haven't been spreading rumors," Alice says defensively.

"Well," Bella says, shifting her gaze to me, "I'm glad you're all right, Frank, but seeing as I'm hardly needed here—"

"No—stay," I say.

She's already moving toward the exit.

"Bella, please."

She stops and turns around slowly to meet my eyes. Then she looks at Alice pointedly.

"Fine!" Alice huffs. "So you've chosen her, is that it?"

"No. Alice, I—"

Alice storms toward the exit before I can finish speaking. As she passes by Bella, the two girls exchange venomous glares, and I can't hold back a sigh. Then Alice is gone, and Bella closes the door.

Her expression immediately softens, and she moves over to sit on the bed next to me.

"I'm so sorry," she says. "I would have stopped you—you should have told me what you were going to do."

I smile. "I suppose I could ask for permission next time."

She carefully lifts up one of my swollen hands. "You really need to practice dueling more often. Rodolphus may be a seventh year, but it shouldn't be _that_ easy for him to corner you."

"Oh, so I'm a little absentminded sometimes. That's what you're here for, isn't it?" I say, still smiling at her.

She doesn't look amused. "I won't always be around to look after you."

I give her a slight pout. She tries and fails to hold back a smile.

"You know, it's utterly unromantic when the princess has to save the prince," she says.

I laugh. "It's a good thing I'm going for survival and not romance, then."

She laughs as well, and I don't think I've ever seen anyone so beautiful. I wish she'd laugh more often. No, I wish I could make her laugh more often.

When we stop laughing, we sit for a while, just smiling at each other.

"Bella… why won't you ever be like this in front of other people?" I ask. "They'd like you a lot better. I'm sure of it. Alice is always giving me a hard time for wanting to be around you, and most of my other friends… I don't even want to _tell_ them that I'm friends with you, for fear of what they'll say."

She only sighs, amusement fading from her features.

"Come on, Bella. You can tell me. Tell me what it is."

"I just can't. I can't be myself. It's not who I was raised to be, who I'm destined to be," she mumbles. "My parents would disown me if I were too friendly with a Muggle-born, and half of your friends are Muggle-borns. So, by association—"

"Then forget about your parents! They treat you awfully. I've seen the bruises—"

Her dark eyes flash with fury. "_Don't!_ I told you never to bring that up again, Frank. I'm warning you."

I sigh. "All right, all right."

"I'm not even so sure that the person I am when I'm with you is the real me, anyway," she says quietly. "You just…" she raises her eyes to my face, "…make me feel so different."

"In a good way?" I ask hopefully.

She frowns, thinking it over. "Just… different."

I scoot a bit closer to her, and she watches me warily.

"You make me feel different, too," I say. "In a very good way."

Her pale cheeks flush slightly, and she drops her eyes to the cot that we're sitting on. I reach out and lift her chin with one of my slightly larger-than-usual hands so that I can see her face.

"Bella… mind if I kiss you?"

A radiant smile spreads across her face, and my heart flutters in my chest. Then she leans forward and presses her lips to mine.

* * *

Alice slips her arm around mine, linking arms with me and huddling close into my side as we trudge through the snow.

"It's so cold," she complains.

"I told you we should have left earlier," I say, looking up at the dark sky.

We just left Madam Puddifoot's to go back to the castle—by the rules, we're supposed to be back at Hogwarts by nightfall, but since we're both prefects, we decided to bend the rules a little bit.

"Do you hear that?" Alice says suddenly, stopping.

I pause and listen carefully. "What?"

Then I hear it—a faint cry of distress. We race toward the source of the sound. As we get closer, the screams get clearer. We finally round a bend in the path, pretty far away from the village, and see a young boy writhing on the ground, tentacles sprouting from his body.

"Bella—stop!" I shout, pointing my wand at her—she's standing only a few feet away from the boy. I Disarm her and then turn to my companion. "Alice, take the boy back to the castle—now!"

Alice glances at Bella as if to make sure it's safe before snatching the victim and racing away.

Bella rolls her eyes at me. "You just _had_ to ruin the fun. Didn't you, Frank? Well, what do you think? I invented this one myself."

I clench my jaw. "Bella, please stop doing this."

"Why should I? I'm a bigoted racist who doesn't deserve anyone's respect, let alone _friendship_."

"I never said—"

"You certainly made it clear enough!" she snaps. "_You_ were the one who snuck out of bed before I woke up. _You_ were the one who said in no uncertain terms that everything that happened meant _nothing_ to you. _You_ were the one who said that you and that bitch were so much better suited for each other!"

By the time she finishes her tirade, she's standing right in front of me. She snatches her wand out of my hand.

"We were fighting," I say. "You didn't have anything nice to say about me either, did you?"

"You still left before I woke up."

"I had class!"

"You should have woken me up or left me a note, then!"

"I just—fuck! Bella, why are we still doing this? What's the point? It's not as though fighting is going to fix anything."

We've already had this argument several times, and I feel like every single time, we reach the same outcome. Bloody hell.

"You know what, you're right. You've clearly moved on," she says.

"_You_ told me to!" I say.

"Since when did you start taking orders from _me?_"

I take a deep breath. "We… we can still be—"

"No, not friends. Never again," she says.

"It was… it only happened once," I say. "It was a mistake. We… we can go back to how we were, can't we?"

That damned night happened almost two full months ago, and in all the time since then, we've hardly spoken at all except to fight. Honestly, I miss her very much.

"No. You should have known there would be no going back as soon as you snuck into my room. I still don't know what you were thinking."

_I_ don't even know what I was thinking. All I do know is that I never intended for things to get _that_ far…

"And now," she continues, "do you _really_ think I'll go back to being friends with you when you're dating _her?_"

"It doesn't have to be you _or_ her," I say. "I value both of you, and I really, really miss you, Bella."

She glares at me. "Oh, no. No, you're not doing this," she says. "I will not be friends with Alice. I don't care what you say. And she doesn't want me as a friend either, I assure you."

"Alice is a friendly—"

"Yes, I _know_ she's a bloody angel! I don't need _you_ to tell me. But she's always been jealous, and you know it, Frank."

It's the truth—I can't deny it.

"Fine," I say. "I can't say anything for Alice. But _I_ miss you, Bella. And with all the things that you've been doing… I worry about you."

"Worry about _me?_ Oh, I never thought the day would come," she says sarcastically. Then the fake smile slides from her face, and she says, "I think it would be better for you if you started worrying about those Mudblood friends of yours, because that little boy and the ones before him… they're just the beginning."

"Please don't—"

"Oh, how sweet. The boy said 'please.'"

"I'll have to go to Dumbledore, you know," I say.

"Go ahead, then. It's not the first time I've been in to see him. We have such a kind headmaster, don't we?" she replies.

"Bella…"

"Yes, Frank?"

I sigh, frustrated. "What do you want from me? What will it take for you to stop?"

"Nothing," she says. "Nothing that you're willing to give, at least. So turn me in if you want to. Get me expelled. Whatever makes you happy. But I will not stop."

She storms past me and down the path toward Hogwarts.

"What if I broke up with Alice?" I ask.

"That's between the two of you. I don't care anymore."

I turn around and watch her as she walks away. "But you do, Bella. You obviously do."

She whips around to face me, and the look on her face makes my chest throb painfully. "Don't make the mistake of thinking that _I_ might be a human being with _feelings_," she says scathingly.

"Don't say that."

"It's true, isn't it?" she says, taking a step toward me. "I've heard what you and your friends say about me when you think I'm not listening. Nothing I do is going to change that."

"If you just didn't—"

Her eyes flash maliciously. "Frank, you don't want to finish that sentence."

"You know it's true. You're not an innocent victim, here."

"All the more reason for you to turn me in, right?"

With that, she turns on her heel and strides away. I watch as she moves farther and farther away from me before rounding a bend and disappearing from view.

I wish it didn't have to be this way. If only things were different.

If only everything was different.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, I was originally only going to write one chapter of Frank's memories, but I couldn't resist writing in some extra scenes, just because I liked them so much. Agh, totally didn't expect this when I started the story. Anyway, the next chapter will be the continuation. What did you guys think of teenage Bella?

In case you didn't catch the in-text clues, the first scene is in first year (well, if you didn't get that one, I don't know what to say to you). The attack from Lestrange happens late in their fifth year, and Bella and Frank's fallout happens early in sixth year. I looked up Alice and Frank, and I don't think it's ever specified in the novels exactly when they attended Hogwarts, so I decided to place them in Bella's year.

Oh, and one more thing. Did you guys recognize the effect of the spell that Bella used on her unfortunate victim? It's shown up another time in this story. I'll be super excited if you can tell me approximately when and/or where the spell showed up and who the other victim was. But I suppose that's asking a bit much of you :P


	70. Chapter 70

**Author's Note:** Hey! I figured I might as well spend a bit of extra time putting up the continuation to get it out of the way for those of you who don't like this segment of the story. But to be honest, I really liked writing this because it was a break from all the other stuff in the story.

**Chapter 70**

"My father wants me to take the Mark."

"What mark?"

"The Dark Mark."

I frown. "I've heard of that. Some rising Dark wizard who claims he's going to take over the world, right? What did they say his name was?"

"Voldemort."

"Right, that was the one," I say. "Oh come now, Bella. You can't be taking this seriously."

"I'm not," she says. "But my parents certainly are, and they want me to go to him."

"But you won't, will you?"

She looks at me. "I suppose not. If you think that I shouldn't…"

"I do think so. It's ridiculous to ally yourself with a madman like that. When has 'taking over the world' ever sounded like a good idea to you?"

She laughs, and I revel in the beautiful sound of her voice.

"Never," she admits.

"Good. Now come here."

I pull her into a hug, and her arms come around me.

Then she sighs. "Don't you feel guilty about Alice?"

"Of course I do," I reply."

"Then why do you keep inviting me over?"

I frown. Why is she asking this? "Why do you keep coming?" I return.

"Now that's not a fair question."

"How is it not a fair question?"

"Because you already know the bloody answer! You just want to force me to say it. And you know what, I don't think I ever will. Because this is already a shit relationship, and I'm not going to become a slave to it."

"Don't say that, Bella."

"Does she even have any clue that there could be something between us?"

"She thinks that we're still fighting like we were last year," I say.

I wince at the memory of sixth year. It was almost physically painful to hear only insults and arguments from her.

"That explains why she's being _nice_ to me," Bella says. "I'm so sick of her and her _perfect_-ness. I don't know how you can stand being around her all the time."

"She's my girlfriend. And I love her."

She scoffs and pushes me away. "Yes, just like you _love_ me. Tell me Frank, have you _loved_ her like you've _loved_ me?"

I can only stare at her. Surely she knows that I haven't… that she's the only girl I've ever been with, the only one that I love in this way. Alice and I hardly even kiss!

"Frank, you are one coldhearted son of a bitch, you know that?"

She gets to her feet and starts getting dressed—clearly, she took my silence the wrong way.

"Bella, don't go."

"You know, I thought I would be all right with being just fuck buddies, but I can't do it. I can't lie in your arms and hear you say that you love someone else."

"Bella, you know that I love you more."

Her eyes are suddenly filled with uncharacteristic sadness. "No. No, Frank, you don't."

And then she's gone again.

* * *

"Alice? Alice, honey?"

I walk into the dark bedroom and hear an unexpected but very familiar voice.

"Hello, Frank."

I freeze. I haven't heard that voice since graduating from Hogwarts three years ago.

"Bella… hello," I say.

The lights turn on, and my gaze rests on her, perched on the foot of the bed that Alice and I share. Bella still looks absolutely breathtaking, although she does seem even wilder than she was before.

"You don't look so happy to see me," she says.

"I… where's Alice?"

"Don't worry, Frank. Your _fiancé_—"

Oh, so she's already heard about our engagement.

"—will find her way back here when the Confundus Charm wears off."

"Damn it, Bella, where is she?"

"Relax. If I wanted to kill her, she'd be dead. This room would be drenched with her blood, and I would be long gone."

"What do you want, then?" I ask cautiously.

"Why, I'm here to give you my well wishes. And I have a wedding gift for you."

"Wedding—it's too early. Bella, I don't—"

"I'm sorry, but you simply have no choice but to accept it."

I flick my wand at her, throwing her back against the headboard. "I'm not the same useless Frank Longbottom I was in school, Bella. You can't push me around."

"Was I ever the one who pushed you around?"

Her voice is softer than I expected, catching me off guard. I stare at her.

"Well?" she prompts.

"No," I admit, lowering my wand.

"I would never threaten you. I just wanted to give you something," she says.

"Fine. What is it?"

Bella points her wand at me.

"I could have hurt you, and I didn't," I remind her warily.

She smiles. "I know. You were always such a sweet boy, Frank."

Then she flicks her wrist, and I feel a searing pain on my chest. The burn intensifies, and I cry out. I attempt to Disarm her, but she blocks my spell and gets to her feet.

The pain stops, but my chest still stings a little.

"What did you do to me?"

"Oh, I just gave you a little bit of body art," she says flippantly. "You see, I've had a bit done myself, and I found that the result was immensely satisfying."

She pulls up her sleeve to show me the Dark Mark—the one that she'd told me she wasn't going to take.

"You're a Death Eater? That's ridiculous. They—"

"Oh, you can scorn us all you want, now. But mark my words. The Dark Mark will come to be feared by every man, woman, and child. First in Britain, then in the whole world."

I shake my head sadly. "Bella… what have you done to yourself?"

"Well, it's about time for me to leave. Wouldn't want dear Alice stumbling upon you with your old lover on the night of your engagement party," she says.

My chest burns again, and I place a hand over the spot. "What did you _do?_" I hiss.

I unbutton the top half of my shirt and look down to see that one word—_Bella_—has been branded into my skin, directly above my heart.

"Pretty, isn't it?" she says, walking toward me. "Whenever you feel that burn, it means I'm thinking of you… and feeling particularly murderous."

I hear the front door of our flat opening.

Bella smiles. "Oops! Time to go. It was _so_ very nice to see you, love."

She reaches up to pat my cheek twice. Then, before I can get over the shock of being branded by her, she twists away and Disapparates.

"Frank?" Alice says as she enters the room.

I turn around wordlessly and watch as the smile on Alice's face fades away. She slowly steps over to me and runs her fingers over the new lettering on my chest, glowing red from the last burn.

"That… _bitch_," she says, stepping closer to hug me.

I want more than anything to agree with her, to push all the blame onto Bella and settle for calling her names.

But these three years have given me time to come to terms with what happened between us, and I know that it wouldn't be fair to her. I shouldn't have been ashamed of her. I should have asked her to be my girlfriend—seventh year was the best and worst year of my life.

I had her.

I had everything I'd ever wanted, and I threw it all away, out of fear for what my friends would say. Bella may have done many things wrong, but I'm not free of guilt either.

I'd felt so strongly for her, thought that my feelings would never, ever change. If I could go back, I would tell her from the beginning that we'd only be friends. I'd stop myself from kissing her that first time in fifth year.

Or maybe I would choose not to be friends with her at all—maybe she would have been better off without me in her life. Maybe I should have let Alice drag me away that day on the Hogwarts Express…

* * *

"I don't believe you. That could be anyone."

Whose voice is that? It sounds strangely familiar.

"Of course you don't believe me. You'd be a fool if you did."

That's Mulciber. The bag over my head prevents me from seeing anything, but I recognize his voice—it sounds a little more gravelly than I remembered, but it's still unmistakable to me.

Then the bag is ripped off my head, and my eyes fall on a young man standing a few feet away from me. A look of shock is on his face, and I begin to feel that he looks familiar. He looks like… like Alice. My eyes widen.

"Neville?" I inquire.

"F—Father. Do you—"

"All we want from you is your cooperation," Mulciber interrupts.

"Neville, don't!" I say immediately. "Your mother and I would never forgive you if you—"

Mulciber points his wand at me, and my voice cuts off. Damn him!

I look at my son imploringly. I don't know much about him at all—he was so young when Alice and I were taken away from him, but he looks so grown. I pray that he's like us, that he'll stand up for what's right, no matter the consequences.

"So you see, boy, the Dark Lord can bring your parents back," Mulciber says.

"I don't believe you. That could be anyone, pretending to be my father."

Good boy. Now leave. _Please_ leave.

"Well, then. You and your father must share some memories that no one else knows of. Ask him something. Anything."

I'm torn. I want more than anything to be reunited with my son, but I don't want him to do something stupid for me. I don't recall any memories from my period of insanity. It couldn't have been that bad, could it? He should let Voldemort put me right back. Come on Neville, you're stronger than this.

He hesitantly moves toward me.

"The last…" he begins, but his voice cracks and he swallows hard. Then, steeling himself, he looks back up at me, a fiery determination blazing in his eyes. "The last words you said to me—what were they?"

Mulciber flicks his wand in my direction, presumably to lift the Silencing Charm. I clear my throat. Yes, my voice is back. But should I answer him?

"Dad… please. If it's really you, please answer me," my son mutters.

My heart immediately softens. These years must have been such a torment for him. I remember the words clearly. It feels as though I spoke them just yesterday.

I meet his eyes, unwavering, and begin to recite in a low voice. "Be good and listen to Gran, all right, Neville? Mummy and Daddy will be right back." My voice breaks on the last two words, and my throat constricts.

His eyes are welling up. "I'll be good, Dad," he whispers his response from so long ago.

I shake my head at him. "Don't do this, Neville," I say. "You promised to be good, didn't you?"

"But you promised to come back," he replies, blinking away tears.

I try to speak, but my voice is gone again, and I glare at Mulciber.

"So, what do you say?" the Death Eater says.

"If I do this, he'll bring my mum back?"

"Oh no, this favor will be for your father—after all, the Dark Lord brought him back without anything from you. If you don't do as we say, we can just as easily torture him back to insanity."

I shudder involuntarily at the possibility. I can't remember the time I spent without my sanity, but I vividly recall the first two hours of torture that I was put through. I didn't beg, but I silently prayed for death to claim me.

Still, I shake my head at Neville. I will endure that a second time if it means that Neville will stay away from the Death Eaters.

Then he says three words that chill me to the bone.

"I'll do it."

No!

* * *

I made a lot of mistakes in my life, Neville, but these were possibly the worst. In the end, Bella chose to take me and your mother away from you. I wish I could have made different choices. Maybe the outcome would have been different. Better.

Though your situation is different, I do not wish to see you filled with regret. I am proud to see that you are so strong and tall. But your mother and I would rather go on forever in insanity than return to see you serving the Dark Lord.

Please don't do something you'll regret.

Turning against the Order will be like turning your back on us, and everything that we stood for. And we will not forgive you for that. I'm sure that I can speak for your mother.

We love you very much, Neville.

Young Mr. Malfoy… if you are watching this, please deliver it to someone—anyone—who can get it to my son. I assume that, based on the fact that you took this message in the first place, you have some way of doing it.

You have my gratitude.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yeah, the last segment is a bit strange, I know. This makeshift Pensieve allows the viewer to experience the memories as though they're in firsthand, but Frank added a message to the viewer at the end, so to Draco, it would be as though everything blacked out, and he could just hear Frank's voice in his head. At least, that's how I envisioned it.

Okay, I probably won't be able to post again until after the midterm (Monday, 9/19/11—HEY, that's Hermione's birthday! I think I'll _have_ to post on that day, then). So, I'll "see" you all then! (:


	71. Chapter 71 H

**Author's Note:** I said I wasn't going to post until Monday, but I'm taking a break right now, and while I usually tend to spend that time browsing the internet uselessly, I decided to edit and upload the next chapter instead. So, here we are.

**Chapter 71**

I can't focus on my book.

We've been sitting out here for about ten minutes now, but not one of us has said a word. Ron has been glaring steadily at Blaise, who is acting like he doesn't see it. Meanwhile, Harry has been lost in thought.

Then he begins to speak. Maybe he _isn't_ lost in thought, then.

"I trust you, Blaise, but I still don't think that leaving him alone in there was a good idea," he says. "What if he Disapparates and brings more Death Eaters here to kill us?"

"Then we'll get the hell out of here," Blaise says simply.

"If he puts up an Anti-Disapparition Jinx around this house, we'll be stuck," Ron points out, still glaring.

"You saw how he arrived, didn't you?" Blaise says. "It's obvious that he's not exactly doing well on their side. And he said it himself—"

"But Voldemort's ruthless. I doubt he'd care about hurting Malfoy like that, just for the sake of getting us to believe his act," Harry says.

"I don't think Malfoy could hurt us," I say. "If that was his intention, he never would have helped in the first place, and he wouldn't have gone through the trouble he did to save Blaise and me. And he could have turned Lupin in when he showed up at Spinner's End instead of handing him over to us."

Blaise nods. "Exactly."

Ron finally shifts his gaze away from Blaise to look at me with an expression on his face that clearly says that he feels I've betrayed him.

I bite back the apology that wants to come out of my mouth. I'm being _reasonable_. There's no reason that I should feel guilty for speaking my mind.

Then I notice that Blaise is watching Ron closely. But before I can comment, Ron speaks.

"What are you looking at, Zabini?" he grits.

Blaise shrugs, a trademark grin on his face. "Not much."

Ron glares at him again but says nothing.

"How much longer do you think he should need in there?" Harry asks.

I wonder if he's heard or noticed the brief exchange between Blaise and Ron—he seems very distracted by the fact that Draco's been left alone in his room.

"I really want to know who the traitor is," he adds.

"We all do, Harry," Blaise says.

"I don't see why he would need the room cleared if he wasn't going to do something evil," Ron says.

"Draco probably has some evidence that he needs to analyze and didn't want us around to distract him."

"But we could help," I say.

"When has Malfoy ever appreciated someone's help before, Hermione?" Harry points out.

"Good point," I concede.

I glance at Ron and see that he looks a bit sullen. I want him to feel better, but I'm not sure how to go about it. I reach out and take his hand.

"Maybe we should check on him," Harry says.

"I'll do it," Blaise volunteers. "He probably won't mind as much if it's just me."

He moves to the door and gives it a light push, but the door doesn't budge. He frowns. "I think it's sealed from the inside," he observes.

Then we hear Naree's voice from the other side of the door.

"Master does not want you to come in until he is ready."

"Naree?" Blaise inquires.

"Naree is here, yes," is the response.

"What's Draco doing in there?"

"Naree cannot say. Master's orders."

"Do you know how much longer it'll take?" Blaise asks.

"Naree does not know."

"Could you please tell us, Naree?" I call out.

"No, Miss Granger. Naree is not to tell, no matter what anyone says."

Ron frowns. "Now if _that_ doesn't sound suspicious—"

Blaise wheels around, and I'm surprised by the fury written on his face. "Can you stop being so _fucking_ paranoid for just _five_ minutes? I am sick and tired of putting up with you and your suspicions. Draco hasn't done _anything_ to hurt us since he turned. Hogwarts is ours because of him. We saved Nottingham because he gave us information. Why can't you put your prejudice aside?"

It's quiet for almost a full minute.

Blaise seldom loses his cool—this is the first time that I've seen him look so murderous. I can't help but wonder if this anger has a bit to do with my resumed relationship with Ron. After all, Blaise has been a little off since he saw us kissing.

Ron looks furious as well. He's squeezing my hand extremely tightly, and his lips twitch as though he's itching to fire back a response, but he restrains himself.

"Blaise… are you all right?" Harry finally asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Blaise snaps, still keeping his eyes on Ron.

Then the door to Draco's room opens.

"Come in, now," Naree says, backing out of the doorway.

Blaise enters the bedroom without another word.

"Come on," Harry says, giving Ron a light push on the shoulder.

We all walk into Draco's room. He's sitting, leaning back against the headboard.

"Do you know who it is, then?" Harry asks.

Draco nods. "I understand him. If he hadn't outed me, I would have felt guilty exposing him."

I frown. "Why—"

"I'm not in the mood to answer questions," Draco interrupts shortly. "I'll tell you what you need to know, and then you can decide what to do about it. I'd appreciate it if all of you left my house for at least a day. I want to be alone."

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but Blaise holds up a hand to silence him.

"We'll leave," Blaise says, in a slightly softer voice than I'd expected. "Tell us what you found out."

"Neville Longbottom."

I gasp. Beside me, Ron's just shaking his head.

"Impossible," Harry says immediately.

Blaise only nods. "Explain."

"Voldemort has been dabbling in all sorts of magic, trying to invent new things to make himself more powerful. His latest experiment, which was successful, as far as I could tell, was restoring sanity to those who've lost it."

Blaise sighs, and I can see that he understands what Draco's saying.

But what does that have to do with—_oh_. Neville's parents…

"Let me guess. He tested it on the Longbottoms," Harry says, sounding disappointed.

"I spoke with a completely lucid Frank Longbottom this morning."

"How do you know—" Ron begins.

"I'm not answering questions," Draco cuts him off. "Neville Longbottom betrayed you because he wanted to be reunited with his parents—his _sane_ parents. I believe he ratted me out in exchange for Lupin's release. The two events occurred too close together to be coincidental. I suggest that you take advantage of this arrangement, rather than restrain or kill him."

"We wouldn't kill him," Harry says. "That's what makes us different from—"

"From whom?" Draco interrupts. Then he chuckles. "From me?"

Harry shakes his head. "I was going to say Voldemort."

"I don't believe you," Ron says. "How can you possibly know that Neville—"

"I think we've established that Draco is—or was—a relatively high-ranking Death Eater. Why don't we all just trust him, for once?" Blaise says irritably. "He knew about a Horcrux. I'm sure he'll be able to tell us who the traitor is."

After a brief pause, Draco says, "That's all you need to know. You can leave now. If you're not planning to stay at Hogwarts, I'd advise against going to Spinner's End, because that's the first place they'll think to look for me. I've been labeled a turncoat, and Voldemort doesn't take kindly to being betrayed."

I remember hearing that there'd been nothing left of Oliver Wood when Voldemort was finished with him. The thought of that makes me shudder.

Blaise steps forward and pats Draco's shoulder once. He doesn't say another word before Disapparating. But in that moment when their eyes met, I sense that something was exchanged between them. I wish I had that sort of connection with someone.

"Thanks, Malfoy," Harry says.

"Don't thank me. Kill that snakey bastard, and we'll call it even, yes?" Draco replies.

I don't hear Harry's response because Ron grabs my arm, and I'm sucked into the uncomfortable sensation that is Apparition.

We arrive just outside the grounds and hurry through the boundary onto safe ground. Blaise is already waiting for us there. Harry appears a moment later, and we move toward the castle together.

Two figures appear on the grounds, heading toward us, wands raised—it's difficult to identify them because it's beginning to get dark. As they near us, I recognize them as Colin and Hannah. When all four of us have answered their questions satisfactorily, they fall into step beside us.

"Why are you back? All of you?" Colin asks.

"We need to see McGonagall. And Shacklebolt, if he's here," Harry replies.

"I'm pretty sure that he still hasn't come back yet, but McGonagall is here," Hannah informs us.

"That's good enough for us," Blaise says.

As we reach the entrance, Colin and Hannah turn away, presumably to continue keeping an eye on the boundaries.

Ginny appears as we enter the entrance hall, and when she sees Harry, she runs over and throws her arms around him.

"I'm happy to see you too, Ginny, but we're a bit busy at the moment," Harry says.

She follows us up the steps. "Are you here to see Lupin?" she asks. "Madam Pomfrey still isn't letting anyone in, except Tonks."

"No, that's not why we're here," Harry says.

We're heading in the direction of McGonagall's office, and Ginny continues to follow. We pass by quite a few former students in the halls, and I wonder when they came.

"How many people are here now, Ginny?" I ask.

"I'm not sure, but they're coming in from hiding," Ginny replies. "Word's out that we've retaken Hogwarts, so people who went into hiding are coming here now."

Blaise nods. "Strength in numbers. It's a good thing."

"How's George?" Ron asks.

"He's… he's doing all right," Ginny says. "We're Weasleys. We can handle it."

I recall that Alicia's been bitten and wish that there was something I could do to help…

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yeah I know, this wasn't a very good place to end the chapter. I just couldn't decide where to cut it off. I'll put up the next one soon.


	72. Chapter 72 H

**Author's Note:** I'm feeling so lazy… not good.

"You promised me the sky, then tossed me like a stone. You wrap me in your arms, and chill me to the bone. There's truth in your lies, doubt in your faith. All I've got's what you didn't take…"

I haven't heard those lyrics in such a long time.

**Chapter 72**

When we enter McGonagall's office, she looks up at us, surprised.

"What was urgent enough to bring all of you here?" she asks.

"We know who betrayed us," Harry says.

"Who?"

Harry sighs. "It was Neville."

Ginny looks shocked, and McGonagall's face shows more surprise than I've seen on it before.

"We should let him explain himself," I say—I don't think it'd be fair for us to attempt to explain his motives. "Harry, could you find him with the Marauder's Map?"

Harry pulls out the map, and we locate Neville in Gryffindor Tower.

"I can get him," Ginny volunteers.

"Don't tell him what this is about," McGonagall warns.

"I won't tell him anything," Ginny says before leaving the room.

"How did you know?" McGonagall asks us.

"Draco told us," Blaise says.

"Did he have any evidence?"

"He wouldn't let us see it," Ron says.

McGonagall narrows her eyes. "But why do you trust him enough to think he's telling the truth?"

"He hasn't failed us yet," Blaise replies.

"I suppose it'd be prudent to speak with Mr. Longbottom anyway, to eliminate suspicion. Where is Mr. Malfoy, now?"

"Resting at home—he's injured," Harry says. "He said that Neville—or the traitor, if it isn't Neville—gave him away."

McGonagall frowns. "Is he all right, then?"

Blaise nods. "He'll be fine."

After a brief silence, Harry asks, "How is Lupin?"

"Poppy still doesn't want us to speak to him, but Tonks has been with him," McGonagall says. "He is feeling much better but still has lapses in full lucidity."

Harry's face falls. "I'd like to see him."

"Perhaps after we speak with Mr. Longbottom, you can check with Poppy."

Blaise nods. "Draco said that Lupin may have been released by Longbottom's request, in exchange for Draco's identity."

McGonagall purses her lips. "That's a hard decision to make. I doubt that he only asked for Remus's release, however. I'm quite certain that if the traitor really is Mr. Longbottom, he would demand the release of Mr. Jordan and Miss Spinnet as well."

"I doubt the Death Eaters would have given him much room for negotiation, though," I say.

"True," Harry agrees.

Soon, Neville and Ginny enter. Neville looks around at us, surprised.

"Why are you all back?" he asks. "Did you come to see Lupin?"

"I think you know why we're here, Longbottom," Blaise says.

Neville looks between our faces and seems to understand. For a moment, it looks like he'll attempt to defend himself, but then the fight drains from his face, and gloom settles over his features. I realize that this expression is the same one that he'd had on when he approached me to ask about his grandmother.

"So it's true," McGonagall says, disappointed.

"Yes," Neville says heavily. "I guessed that Malfoy would say something, but how did you know it was me?"

I can't believe it's true. I trusted Draco when he said it, but it's still different to hear Neville actually admit that he really is the traitor.

"He knew it was you," Harry says. "He also knew why you did it."

"I'd like to hear it from Mr. Longbottom himself," McGonagall says.

He sighs. "Where should I start?"

"Start with the beginning."

After a brief pause during which Neville gathers his thoughts, he begins to speak.

"It happened when I was out looking for Seamus."

All of us shift a little uncomfortably at the mention of Seamus. It had been painful for me to confirm to everyone that he'd really died. I remember Neville had still been out searching when I returned with the news…

"I ran into a Death Eater in Hellifield. We dueled, and after maybe a minute, I realized that he wasn't trying as hard as he could have, so he'd probably found me on purpose. I wanted to find out why, so I kept fighting. But then he said he wanted to talk."

"Who was it?" Ron asks.

"Mulciber," Neville says. "I didn't believe him at first. Then he… he said that he had my father with him."

McGonagall glances over at us, but we show no signs that Neville's lying—this sounds consistent with what Draco told us.

Neville continues, "He said that Voldemort could restore sanity—that my parents could get their lives back."

"Impossible…" McGonagall says.

"My father… I spoke to him that night," Neville says.

We all stare at him.

"Are you certain that he was your real—" Blaise begins to ask.

"He knew something that no one else would know—not my mum or Gran either," Neville replies.

"It worries me, the way that Voldemort seems to become more and more powerful. I can't imagine what type of Dark magic he worked to do something so unnatural," McGonagall says.

A somber silence follows her words.

Has Voldemort really run out of ways to cause pain and decided to start expanding into _healing_ powers? I find that hard to believe.

Then McGonagall asks, "What did Mulciber ask of you?"

"He wanted me to give up Grimmauld Place."

I glance at Blaise and notice that he's looking between Ron and Neville.

"I said I wouldn't do it," Neville continues. "Then he said that I could choose whether to let Dung go or reveal Order headquarters myself. I didn't want to do it, but he threatened to torture my dad right back to insanity. So I… I…"

"_You_ let him go?" Harry asks, fixing a hard stare on Neville.

"I'm so sorry," Neville says. "I Confunded Ron and helped Dung escape."

Ron looks furious. "Neville, do you have any idea what my mum did when she thought it was _my_ fault he escaped?"

McGonagall is angry as well, eyes narrowed dangerously. But when she speaks, her voice is quiet. "Keep calm, Mr. Weasley."

"So that's why you were upset after the meeting," Blaise says. "It wasn't really about the twelve people who died. It was about your betrayal."

Neville says nothing to contradict this. I remember the way he'd seemed so depressed, remember thinking that it was because the war was finally taking a toll on him. I never suspected that he could have been feeling guilty because it was really _his_ fault that those twelve people had died…

"When did you see him next?" McGonagall prompts.

"Two nights ago, when I had the three o'clock night patrol. He was standing just outside the boundary. He wanted me to help them take back Hogwarts, but I told him that I couldn't do it. I'm only one person, and no one person controls all of our defenses. Plus, I can't open the barrier."

"Thank fucking Merlin you can't," Ron says. "Otherwise, this place would be crawling with Death Eaters, wouldn't it?"

"Stop it, Ron," Harry says. "We didn't give you a particularly hard time when we suspected you, did we?"

"But this is different. Neville's already admitted—"

"I don't know what kind of upbringing you had, but as a pure-blood, you should understand what Longbottom did," Blaise says. "He did what a son should do. What would you have done if you were given a choice between betraying the Order or condemning your parents to insanity by torture?"

"That's—it's—that's different."

"Can we just move on?" Harry says. "You gave up Malfoy. How did that happen?"

"Mulciber said that Voldemort could bring back my mum as well," Neville says. "But I said that the spy was worth a lot more than that. I wanted Lupin, Lee and Alicia back."

"Why did you decide to negotiate?" I ask.

"I guess I felt safer because he couldn't cross the boundary," he replies. "He said that he'd give me Lupin, but not Lee or Alicia."

"Have you seen your mother?" Harry asks.

Neville shakes his head. "No."

"When did you tell Mulciber about Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall asks.

"After Lupin got here—that was the agreement."

"The timing is about right," Blaise notes.

I nod. "Malfoy got back to the cottage not too long after I did."

"Do you think Mr. Malfoy gave away anything about the Order that could have convinced the Death Eaters to release him?" McGonagall asks us. "I doubt he could have gotten away if he was suspected to be a traitor."

Blaise shakes his head. "He got away."

Harry turns to face Blaise. "How can you be so sure? It does sound very unlikely that he'd be able to fight his way out."

"Let's just say that I know Draco better than any of you. I know what side he's really on, even if none of you believe it."

Blaise seems to be particularly protective of Draco today. Why is that? Does he know something that we don't know?

"We'll come back to that, Mr. Zabini," McGonagall says. "Mr. Longbottom, when will you see your parents again? Was that part of the arrangement?"

"He said that he'd bring me my mum tonight," Neville replies.

"We should try to trap him, then," Harry says. "Where is he meeting you?"

Neville shakes his head. "I don't know. He hasn't ever told me precisely when or where he'll show up."

"I get the feeling that he won't bring your mother," Blaise says.

"Why not?"

"Because Draco got away. Mulciber's going to need something to show Voldemort. I'm willing to bet that his next step will be to coerce you into giving up—or discovering and then giving up—Draco's location."

"I suppose it's not an option to just give him up," Neville says glumly.

"I wouldn't mind," Ron says.

Harry shoots him a warning glance, but his words are directed toward Neville. "If you see Mulciber again, pretend this never happened."

"Yes," McGonagall agrees. "Tell me what he asks for, and we will all work together to capture him. I cannot say that you made the correct choice in releasing Mundungus, but Frank and Alice were very dear to me. If they can be rescued, I want to help. I will be keeping a very close eye on you, Mr. Longbottom."

Neville shuffles his feet and looks down at the ground.

"In fact," McGonagall continues, "I'd like it very much if you were never left alone."

Neville looks up. "I'll have to be alone on patrols, if you want me to speak to Mulciber again."

McGonagall nods. "Yes, I suppose so. Very well, then. You may continue the same nighttime patrol, but I want you to be accompanied at all other hours of the day."

She looks at the boys pointedly.

"We can stay," Harry says. "Ron and I—"

"Draco shouldn't be left alone," Blaise says, interrupting Harry. "Hermione is best at healing, so she should probably go back to keep an eye on him."

I glance at Ron and note that his face is reddening slightly with anger.

"What do you think, Miss Granger?" McGonagall asks.

"I can do it," I say.

"As for watching Longbottom, I'll stay behind with Harry. Weasley can go with Hermione, if he wants," Blaise says.

Ron looks at Blaise suspiciously.

"Wouldn't it be easier if you went back with Hermione?" Harry asks Blaise.

I second that opinion—I know that Ron won't like looking after Draco at all.

"I'm more careful than Weasley. It'd be safer if I stayed to take turns with you. Longbottom Confunded Weasley easily enough last time—wouldn't want that happening again, would we?"

Neville shifts his weight uncomfortably at Blaise's words.

"Very well," McGonagall says. "If none of you have objections to this arrangement—"

"Can I actually do something to help, this time?" Ginny says.

She'd remained so silent throughout the conversation that I'd almost forgotten she was in the room. I look over and see that she's looking at Harry expectantly.

"Continue your scheduled patrols, Miss Weasley," McGonagall says. "If you want to be more involved, speak to your mother."

Ginny lets out a frustrated sigh.

"If that's all, you can leave now," McGonagall says. "Mr. Longbottom, kindly stay behind—I'd like to speak to you alone."

Neville nods and stands his ground, and the rest of us file past him and through the exit. When we reach the bottom of the stone gargoyle, Harry turns around to face us.

"Blaise, could you wait for Neville? I have to see Lupin," he says.

Blaise nods. "No problem. Do what you have to. I'll find you there if you're not back by the time Longbottom comes down."

"Thanks."

Harry walks down the hall toward the hospital wing, and Ginny hurries after him.

Blaise looks over at Ron and me. "You two should probably get going, then."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" I say. "Malfoy did say that he didn't want us—"

"Trust me, it'll be fine," Blaise says. "Just go."

"Why would you volunteer to stay behind, Zabini?" Ron asks from beside me.

"For the exact reason that I gave upstairs. I don't want Longbottom to get the best of you again because that probably won't turn out well for any of us," Blaise replies nonchalantly.

"Everyone slips up occasionally," I say. "Drop it, Blaise."

He fixes dark eyes on me, and I meet his stare without flinching.

"Let's just go," Ron says, pulling me down the hallway.

I turn away to leave, but I can feel his eyes burning into my back until we reach the end of the hall and turn the corner. I'm worried about what he's thinking. Is he planning something? Why was he intent on sending Ron and me back to Draco's home?

A few minutes later, we Apparate into Draco's living room.

I immediately move toward the bedroom and pull the door open. Draco's bed is vacant, but Naree is lying on the spare bed.

"Where's Malfoy?" Ron wonders aloud.

"I'm not sure," I say, moving into the bedroom to check on Naree.

"I'll take a look in the kitchen," Ron offers. "Take care of the house-elf."

I walk toward the bed and sit on the edge.

"I'll see you in a few minutes, then."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Indeed, where _is_ Draco? You'll find out in the next chapter (:


	73. Chapter 73 D

**Author's Note:** Happy Birthday Hermione! :D

This chapter picks up right where Chapter 70 leaves off, with Draco backing out of the Pensieve. I know that this may be a tiny bit confusing, but I didn't want to repeat the scene in Draco's room in dual perspectives, but I still wanted to get Draco's reaction on those memories into the story somewhere. So they're placed here. Hope that didn't confuse you. It'll probably make a bit more sense when you start reading. So get reading, you! ;)

**Chapter 73**

I don't know what to think.

As I siphon the contents of my makeshift Pensieve back into the vial, I struggle to understand.

Aunt Bella hadn't been lying in the dungeons in Dartmoor—that much is certain. I hadn't thought that she was lying, but I'd still doubted that she could ever love someone.

In her youth, she seemed so different. She's still a beautiful woman now, but there's none of that life, none of that light happiness that I saw in Longbottom's recollection of her.

I vaguely wonder if that tattoo is still on his chest—knowing Aunt Bella, she would have found a way to make it irremovable, an ineffable reminder of their past.

I still can't believe that Aunt Bella would willingly enter a relationship with someone who was clearly never intending to get serious with her.

But I've done idiotic things, and Granger is still back with… back with that fucking weasel.

We're a lot more alike than I thought, my aunt and I.

I close my eyes.

The image of a young girl surfaces in my mind. I can still hear her, begging in Russian, almost unintelligibly due to her heavy sobs, for me to spare her life.

I didn't flinch, didn't even blink, as I brought her to the brink of insanity.

At the end, as she neared death, she began to laugh. And I know why. Because she knew that all of the pain I inflicted on her would be doubly repaid to me. That I would be made to suffer worse than she did.

I open my eyes again, unable to look at that laughing face any longer.

It's so much easier when I don't feel. I don't _have_ to feel this immense remorse for what I did, don't _have_ to relive my crimes over and over again.

I completely understand now how easy it is to lose your humanity.

I _want_ to be unfeeling.

I don't want to feel anything when I see Granger's hand holding on to Weasley's. I don't want this crushing weight on my chest.

But I know that if I turn that off… if I really decide to stop feeling, I may never come back. And I don't want to risk it. As much as it pains me to see Granger with that weasel, I can't give up the feelings that I have for her. I'd be losing a part of me. Probably the better part of me.

I don't know how much more of this I can take, though. That young girl's face haunts me. I'll never be rid of her, not while I still _feel_.

This could be why Voldemort thinks I'm a "truly Dark wizard"—I can choose to be unfeeling. I can numb myself to it all.

With a sigh, I lean back against the headboard and take a moment to compose myself. I just have to have one more conversation with them, and then I'll send them away for a time.

I want to be alone.

Then I wave a hand at Naree to get his attention. "Let them in," I say.

He gets to his feet and pulls the door open.

"Come in, now," he says as he backs away from the doorway to let them in.

The house-elf crosses the bedroom and hops agilely onto the bed that Granger had conjured for Ginny Weasley. I frown at him—there's no way he could have recovered fully in that short period of time. I'll make him a special Blood-Replenishing Potion later.

Then Blaise enters the room, followed shortly by Potter, Weasley and Granger.

"Do you know who it is, then?" Potter asks me.

* * *

As soon as Potter Disapparates, I let out a sigh of relief.

Alone at last.

I glance over and see that Naree is sitting on the bed, looking down at his hands.

"Naree, are you all right?" I ask.

He turns his head toward me slowly, and his eyes seem slightly unfocused. "Naree does not feel well, Master. Perhaps it would be better if Naree rested?"

"Yes. Sleep if you can. I'll make—"

"Master should not serve—"

"_Don't_ argue with me," I say. "You've nursed me back to health so many times. Making you a potion is the least I could do in return."

"M—Master should not treat Naree as an equal."

I smirk. "Are you trying to tell me what to do?"

His face blanches, and I realize that that was the wrong thing to say.

"Sorry. I was joking," I say.

I start to get to my feet and wince as my extremely sore muscles begin to protest. But Aunt Bella was merciful this time—I can tell that I would have had it much worse if she'd _really_ wanted to hurt me.

I cross the room to Naree's bed and gently press his shoulders to get him to lie down.

"Just stay here," I tell him. "Try to sleep."

The house-elf gives me a tearful smile. "Thank you, Master."

I return a smile before turning around and exiting the room. I pull the door shut behind me and then go into the kitchen.

Although elves still bleed red, their blood contains different, more magical properties than human blood. Naturally, then, a Blood-Replenishing Potion must be altered if it's to treat a house-elf. Though Naree isn't in any mortal danger, taking a draught of the potion will help with his recovery. And I owe him—he's done so much for me.

I open the cabinet that contains most of my ingredients and select the containers that I need, placing them up on the counter. Then I look at the selection before me. Something that was once in here is now missing. I observe the cupboard carefully, mentally taking stock of its contents, and realize that the rose thorns are missing.

Frowning, I Summon a small cauldron, fill it to about halfway with water, and light a fire beneath it.

As I wait for the water to boil, I turn around and cast a glance at the upper cabinets. They're usually filled with already-completed potions—there's no reason why any raw ingredients would be placed there. I Summon my jar of rose thorns, and it flies out of the cupboard directly across from me.

I catch the jar and turn to set it down on the counter behind me, but then a scent that wasn't there before catches my attention, and I spin back around.

The cupboard from which the rose thorns had come is still open, and I smell… apples?

I slowly move toward the cupboard, and as I get closer, I start to notice distinct smells. A broomstick presents itself to my mind. And… aw, hell. I'd recognize this subtle fragrance anywhere—Hermione's hair.

Fuck.

Amortentia is the strongest Love Potion out there, but its most impressive aspect is that the victim is completely unaware and cannot be convinced that he or she is under the effect of a potion. Lesser potions only generate lust and obsession or cause extremely uncharacteristic behavior, allowing people to easily spot that something's wrong.

And the victim can typically become aware that he or she is being affected by a potion.

Even for Ronald Weasley, this is low. It's _sick_.

But judging from the relatively mild extent of Granger's attachment to Weasley, he must not have brewed the potion to perfection.

I flick my wand. "Accio Amortentia."

As expected, the spell has no effect. Therefore, Weasley's potion wasn't successful enough to be called Amortentia. But it was effective enough to hold Granger.

I remember toying with the idea of a Love Potion back at Hogwarts, but on some level, I knew that I could never actually bring myself to do that to her. It's comforting to know that Granger is out of her mind right now, but I still can't bear to think about what Weasley could have done to her in all this time.

Then I wonder if he's had her before.

The old me would probably be boiling with fury and jealousy, but I only feel a shade of what I would have felt.

I must still be a little numb.

It's probably a good thing. I won't admit this to anyone, ever, but I _know_ that Russia should have affected me much more than it did. And now, I've lost Mother…

It's a horrible thing to think, but I wish that she hadn't gotten in the way, that Aunt Bella had killed Father instead, like she'd meant to. I'd much rather lose Father than Mother.

The image of her eyes, wide open and unseeing, fills my mind, and I close my eyes for a moment, fighting tears. She's dead because she came to save me. I'm indirectly responsible for her death. My own mother…

I shake away the thoughts and lock them down. I can't be so weak, not right now.

I move to the cupboard and pull out a Love Potion Antidote—I have almost every potion possible in stock, but I've never really needed this. I made it once just to refresh my skills in potion-making, and I should check to make sure that it's still effective.

Just as I set the vial on the counter, the kitchen door swings open, and the culprit steps inside.

"Hello, Weasley," I say.

He frowns at me and closes the door behind him. "What are you doing in here, Malfoy?"

"It's my kitchen. I don't have to explain myself to you. But since I'm in such a _sharing_ mood today, I'll show you. Do you know what this is?"

I hold up the bottle.

He takes a few steps toward me to get a closer look and then shakes his head. What a twit. How can he brew a potion and not learn how to recognize the antidote?

I smirk. "It's a Love Potion Antidote."

His eyes widen, and then he glares at me. "Why would you need that?" he asks.

"Oh, I'm not the one who needs it, but I'm sure you knew that already," I reply.

He draws his wand, but I'm prepared for him—as soon as he grips the handle, I Disarm him. He backs away toward the door, but I point a finger at him and bark, "Incarcerous!"

Ropes materialize out of thin air and tightly wind around the weasel. He loses his balance and topples to the ground.

"Hermione!" he calls out.

"Right, because asking her to come here will do so much good for you," I say sarcastically, drawing my wand.

I levitate him away from the door and move him to the opposite end of the kitchen, pinning him to the wall. Then I feel a sharp sting between my shoulder blades and glance back to see that Granger is standing in the doorway, her wand pointed at me.

"Let him go," she says.

Aw, bloody hell. That was clearly just a warning.

I make sure that the spell holding Weasley in place is nice and secure before turning to fully face her. "You don't want to fight me, Granger," I say carefully.

"If you don't let him go _right _now, I won't have a choice."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Oh, I'd forgotten that I left the chapter at this point. That's kind of a mean cliffhanger, isn't it? I'll try to update soon, but I don't think it'll be another rapid-fire update like the past few have been. I was really flaky this weekend as far as schoolwork goes, so I'm going to have to pick things up the coming week. Aaaah, midterm tomorrow! x.x


	74. Chapter 74 H

**Author's Note:** So I said that this wouldn't come for a while, but I really didn't feel like working after getting back from the midterm, and today was kind of a long day. So I'm putting up another chapter. And after this one, I _really_ will have to put the next chapter on hold.

**Chapter 74**

"Hello, Miss Granger."

"Oh, you're awake," I say, sitting down on the edge of the bed that Ginny had slept in.

Naree smiles up at me. "Naree is happy to see Miss Granger again so soon."

"Why is that?" I ask.

"Because Master likes Miss Granger. Master likes Miss Granger, so Naree does, too."

For some reason, his words make me feel extremely guilty. I suppose it's because that I'm back with Ron right now… But I shouldn't have to feel guilty about my emotions, should I? It's not as though it's something that I can control.

"Is there anything you need?" I ask the house-elf.

He shakes his head. "Naree thanks Miss Granger for being so thoughtful, but Naree will be able to recover on his own."

"At least let me clean up your pillowcase a little," I say, drawing my wand.

He nods, so I point my wand at him and murmur, "Scourgify."

The blood stains fade away, and the pillowcase is left as white as it was before.

"Did you know Dobby well?" I ask Naree.

He nods. "Dobby was a bad house-elf. Always wanted to disobey. He was Master Lucius' personal elf. Master Draco said a long time ago that Dobby would leave at the first chance he got. And he did! Naree knows he did. Master Draco is always right."

Then there's a faint thud, and I hear Ron's voice.

"Hermione!"

He's calling for help. Alarmed, I get to my feet.

"Naree, I'll be right back—just stay here," I say.

I exit Draco's bedroom and quickly cross the living room to the kitchen, opening the door cautiously. I see that Ron has been bound up and placed against the far wall. Draco's standing with his back to me. I send a mild Stinging Jinx his way, and he stiffens. Then he turns his head and sees me.

"Let him go," I say.

He hesitates before turning around and pointing his wand at me. "You don't want to fight me, Granger."

"If you don't let him go _right now_, I won't have a choice," I reply, narrowing my eyes at him.

He holds my gaze, and I see that he has no intention of releasing Ron.

"Expelliarmus!" I shout.

I seem to have caught him off guard—his wand goes flying out of his hand. But then he smirks, and I wonder if he _let_ me Disarm him. Irrational fury rises in my chest as I realize he's patronizing me.

"Confringo!" I bark, my wand still pointed at him.

He ducks out of the way, and my spell blasts a chunk out of the opposite wall. I cringe—I'd almost hit Ron!

Then Draco points a finger at me, and ropes shoot in my direction. I Vanish them with a wave of my wand and fire a Jelly-Brain Jinx at him. He pushes his palm out toward me, and the jet of purple light comes flying back at me. I immediately duck out of the way and point my wand at him, throwing a Trip Jinx at him.

He smirks and repels this jinx as easily as the last, and I have to leap out of the way of the rebounding spell. I send a jet of blue flames in his direction, but he extinguishes it before it can touch him. Then he waves his hand at me, creating a wall of ice between us.

_Expulso!_

The wall of ice explodes, but Draco's nowhere to be seen. Did he Disapparate?

_Homenum Revelio_.

The spell tells me that he's still present, so in the next moment, I cast a Disillusionment Charm on myself, copying him.

"Hermione—what are you doing?" I hear Ron ask in a panicked voice.

I don't reply, moving swiftly and silently away from the spot where I'd been standing. The kitchen is rather narrow, however, and I feel that Draco and I won't be able to pass by each other without colliding or at least brushing against one another.

Sure enough, my outstretched fingertips find the fabric of his shirt. I instantly grab a fistful of his shirt to hold him in place and point my wand at him.

"Bombarda!"

He somehow manages to block my spell and spins out of my grasp. Why isn't he attacking me?

Just as I think this, a jet of fire much larger than the one I had created spurts toward me. I backpedal rapidly, buying myself just enough time to cast a Flame-Freezing Charm. The tickling sensation flows over me quickly, and suddenly Draco's standing right in front of me, visible now. I back up a few steps and try to throw him backwards, but he blocks the spell.

Then I point my wand at him and shout, "Impedimenta!" He sidesteps this spell, but I immediately send two more his way, and while he avoids one, the other hits him squarely in the chest.

I know my Impediment Jinxes are strong—he'll be immobilized for at least twenty seconds, and that's enough for me.

I take a few quick steps over to him and point my wand at him, keeping it only an inch from his neck—I won't let him come into contact with my wand. He may be immobilized, but I'm fairly certain that he could still work that magic for controlling others' wands.

"Don't move," I hiss.

I lift the Disillusionment Charm on myself—it's a little bit harder when my wand isn't pointed at me, but I manage it.

"Finish him!" Ron says. "He was going to kill me!"

The incantation crosses my mind, but I hesitate. I look up into Draco's eyes, and instead of fear or anger, there's a strange calm. Does he think he's going to die?

Then he smirks at me again. I hear him snap his fingers, and with that, he Disapparates. Bewildered, I spin around, expecting him to attack from behind.

But he isn't there. I turn back around and see that he's now standing by the wall opposite the door, a hand around Ron's neck.

"No, let go of him!" I say, pointing my wand at Draco again.

If he hurts Ron…

"If you attack me, I'll kill him," he threatens.

"Kill him, Hermione. Kill him!" Ron growls.

Draco's hold on his neck tightens visibly, and Ron gasps for air.

"If you want to save him, you'll have to drink what's in that bottle over there," Draco says, jerking his head toward the counter.

I turn and see a medium-sized bottle of clear liquid.

"No, don't drink it, Hermione. It's poison!" Ron cries.

"Exactly," Draco says. "A life for a life. If you drink that poison, I won't kill Weasley."

I glare at him. "I thought you were on our side, Malfoy."

He grins. "I changed my mind," he says simply. "It's your choice. Only one of you has to die today."

"Hermione, don't do it!"

I look back at the potion. "It's okay, Ron. I can die for you."

Ron shakes his head as best he can, but Draco's grip tightens, limiting his range of motion.

"Don't hurt him!" I warn him.

"Drink the potion, then. Don't you want him to live?" Draco replies.

I lower my wand and pick up the bottle. Ron continues to plead with me not to do it, but if only one of us can survive, surely it should be Ron. He still has a family, and they can't afford to lose any more people. My parents don't even remember me.

I look back at Draco for a moment. "Give me your word," I say.

"I won't kill him if you drink it," he says.

For some inexplicable reason, I trust him.

I pull out the cork and lift the bottle to my lips. After one last look at Ron, I tip the bottle and pour the liquid down my throat.

* * *

**Author's Note:** And on that wonderful note, I bid you farewell. Sorry I haven't been able to respond to many reviews lately, by the way. It's just been a bit hectic.


	75. Chapter 75 H

**Author's Note:** Ah, I feel like it's been forever since I last worked on this. Sad! I hardly have any of my buffer left… every post has been chipping away at it, and I don't have time to write more because of midterms :/ I'll definitely let you guys know ahead of time if I have to take a break, but I'll try my best not to let that happen.

On a happier note, here's the next chapter!

**Chapter 75**

I feel as though a bucket of ice water has just been poured over my head.

The air feels so painfully cold to me.

My vision is awful—I see blurred shapes, one of which seems to be moving toward me. I instinctively back away and lift my wand at the oncoming figure.

It stops advancing, and I hear blurred speech in a male's voice. I shake my head in an attempt to convey the fact that I can't understand him. He stops speaking and just stands there, waiting for me to recover.

Merlin, what just happened to me?

I inhale deeply.

I'm in Draco's kitchen—I recognize the woodsy smell, combined with the odor of the numerous cauldrons stored here. Most ingredients and potions are in cupboards that seal away smell, so those scents are kept clear of the kitchen proper.

I blink a few times, and the fuzzy shapes come into sharp focus.

Draco is standing a few feet away from me, watching me with a concerned, wary expression. A bit to the left of his shoulder, I can see Ron bound to the wall, seemingly unconscious. What just hap…

Before I can finish the question, I suddenly remember.

I thought I was going to die. I thought Draco wanted me to choose between watching him strangle Ron and poisoning myself.

I lock eyes with him, and I can tell from his expression that he knows I'm back.

Back from what?

My eyes widen as memories begin to flood into my head.

I catch pieces of conversations that I had with Harry, with Blaise, with Draco, with Ron. I see a look of disappointment on Blaise's face. I recall bewilderment on Harry's face. Ginny's skeptical expression surfaces in my head as I tell her that I'm sure about my feelings for Ron.

My _feelings_ for _Ron_.

Suddenly I feel sick to my stomach.

"Hermione," Draco says in a soft voice.

My eyes snap back to his, and I remember the smooth blankness of his face the night that he came at my request. The words that I said to him begin to surface, and my eyes begin to burn.

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

"Are you all right?" he asks tentatively.

I don't know what to feel—fury with Ron, disgust with my own actions, or remorse for everything I did and said to Draco. I take a deep breath and step toward the tall blond.

"I… I'm so sorry," I murmur.

The concern on his face fades away, but it isn't replaced by relief or happiness, or even anger—when I look into his grey eyes, I see only a strange emptiness.

"Don't worry about it," he replies.

His tone is too similar to the one he used _that_ night, and there's a sharp pang in my chest that not even my wrath toward Ron can overcome as I realize just how deeply I wounded him.

"Draco… can you wait in your room with Naree for a minute? I have to deal with Ron, and then I'll… I have to talk to you."

He nods. "I have nowhere else to go, anyway."

I remember that he's now a fugitive, that Neville sold him out. Merlin, I've been out of my mind for far too long—so much has happened. _Neville_ betrayed us! Surprise hits me anew as the thought crosses my mind.

Then I hear the kitchen door close with a snap, signaling Draco's departure.

I move toward Ron and point my wand at him. "Rennervate."

His eyelids flutter. Then he opens his eyes a crack. They widen when they catch sight of me. "Hermione," he says.

"Hello, Ron," I say.

"Let me down."

I glare at him. "Really? Do you really think I'm about to _help_ you right now? Who do you think I _am?_"

He stares at me mutely.

"So, you have nothing to say. Is that because you know your actions are unjustifiable, or is it because you're too thick to even think to _apologize_ to me?"

"I…" his voice fades.

"Pathetic," I hiss at him. "How _dare_ you use a Love Potion on me? I trusted you! I considered you one of my closest friends, Ronald!"

"I just thought that… that if you saw how good it could be—"

"How _good_ it could be? Tell me, Ron, how could it possibly be good if I was completely _out of my mind?_ Did you honestly think that I would never snap out of it? That no one would ever save me?"

As I speak these words, I realize that it's taken a disproportionately long amount of time for someone to finally give me a Love Potion Antidote. I'm surprised that Harry, Blaise or Draco didn't do something about this sooner—from what I remember, Harry and Blaise certainly had their suspicions that something fishy was going on. I'm going to get down to the bottom of this.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Ron mumbles.

He looks at me with something akin to hope in his eyes, and I can't stand the fact that he thinks I could possibly forgive him after so small a gesture. I'm so furious that I lose control for a moment. My hand flies up of its own accord and gives him a hard slap across the cheek.

When he turns his head back to face me, he looks hurt.

"Don't even _try_ to make me feel guilty, Ronald Weasley. You deserved that, and more. You took away my free will. If you had been there when Harry, Blaise and I were discussing Communimency this morning, you would know that I consider that an act of Dark magic."

He manages to look contrite.

"I'm not going to let you down from there," I say. "You're going to hang there until someone decides to have pity on you. And after I'm through with Harry and Blaise, I'm fairly certain that they won't feel so inclined to help you. Not for a while."

"Hermione, please—don't just leave me here," he begs.

"Do you think you deserve to walk away with no punishment, after what you did? You're _vile_. I don't even want to _speak_ to you anymore."

"I'm really, really sorry, Hermione! I just love—"

"_Don't_ say that you love me!" I interrupt him angrily, pointing my wand at him in warning. "If you loved me, you would respect me! You wouldn't be able to force yourself on me!"

"I never—" he begins to protest.

"Yes, you did. You forced me to have _feelings_ for you," I say.

"I didn't—"

A bright red spark flies from the tip of my wand and hits him directly in the chest, zapping him. He cries out in pain as the spark electrocutes him. But seeing his pain doesn't do anything to lighten the heavy weight in my chest.

Draco is still waiting for me.

"Don't try to argue this point with me," I say to Ron, flicking my wand to remove the spark. "You _know_ that what you did was wrong."

He falls silent, breathing hard.

"You know, I wanted to preserve our friendship. I still thought of you as one of my closest friends, even when you were being annoying and clingy. But I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive you for this," I say, turning and heading for the door.

I'm bluffing, and I know it. I've always been too quick to forgive, too quick to forget. Blaise told me so a long time ago, and I'm sure that he's right. He's always right about me. I know that I'll find the strength to forgive Ron someday, but it won't be today.

As I reach the door, I turn back to look at him. He's hanging his head.

"Goodbye, Ron," I say.

He doesn't respond, so I pull the door open and exit the kitchen.

The living room looks the same as it usually does, and I was here just a few minutes ago, but I feel as though I haven't really been here for days. Damn you, Ronald Weasley.

I move to Draco's bedroom door and pause.

What should I say to him? What _can_ I say to him? He knows that I was under the influence of Ron's potion, but the words must have hurt him deeply at the time. In all likelihood, they still hurt him now. I turn the knob and push the door open.

He's sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at the ground. As I step into the room, he looks up at me.

"Can I speak to you, alone?" I ask.

Draco gives Naree a slight nod. The house-elf gets out of bed and exits the room promptly.

"Where is he—" I begin to ask.

"He'll go to the guest room," Draco replies. "What do you have to tell me?"

"I'm sorry."

"You said that already," he says.

"Then I felt that I had to say it again."

He doesn't respond, and we both fall silent. I move toward him, stopping only when I'm standing directly in front of him. I reach down and pick up his hands, pulling upward. He lifts his head to look at me.

"Get up," I tell him.

He gets to his feet, humoring me, but pulls his hands away. My hands feel so incomplete, and I itch to grab his hands again, but I don't want to anger him.

"Draco, why didn't you fight for me?" I ask softly.

He stares at me, frowning. "Don't you remember what you said to me?"

"Of course I do—that's what I just apologized for. But you… you should have said something, _done_ something. Anything. Why did you just… believe me?"

"I guess I always suspected…" his voice fades away before he can finish the thought, and he starts to turn his face away from me.

No, that won't do. I lift my hands up to grip his head, holding it in place.

His surprised eyes meet mine. "What are you doing?"

"I'm telling you not to hide from me," I say firmly.

Then I yank his head down and kiss his lips. He immediately pulls back and moves to the side, trying to get away from me. Our lips separate, but I manage to keep a hold of his head, shifting with him so that I'm still right in front of him.

"Granger—"

"Draco, I don't want anything like this to happen, ever again. You can't _suspect_ anything. I want you to _know_ that I… that I have feelings for you," I say.

He's avoiding my eyes again, and I want to scream in frustration. Every memory of what I said to him is _torture_ to me. Doesn't he understand that it was all Ron's fault? I know that I've hurt him, that he wants to be careful. But why can't he accept my _real_ feelings? He accepted the false ones easily enough!

"Draco, you have to believe me," I say. "You _know_ I was under the influence of a potion."

His eyes finally meet mine again, and I can see that he's closed himself off. Despair falls in my chest like a lead weight. What'll it take for him to open up to me?

"I do believe you. But I can't let that happen to me anymore," he says. "I don't want to expose myself to that sort of vulnerability again."

I close my eyes and exhale deeply through my nose. "Don't you understand? If you know my feelings—really _know_ them—then it _can't_ happen again, because you'll know what's wrong right away."

His hands come up to wrap gently around my wrists, and I know that he's planning to push me away.

"No, Draco," I say.

His hands pause, still encircling my wrists, and I open my eyes to look at him. His liquid silver eyes are mere inches from mine.

"Give me the chance to prove my feelings for you," I say. Then an idea occurs to me. "You owe me."

He raises an eyebrow. "Explain."

"Remember the bet that you proposed and that I won?"

Now he looks wary. "Yes."

"So you remember what you set as the stakes," I say.

He nods.

"I know what I want you to do for me, now."

His eyes narrow just a fraction.

I close my eyes and lean up on tiptoe to taste him again, sliding my hands around to grip the back of his head.

"I want you to take me, tonight," I whisper against his lips. His entire frame stiffens, and I can't resist adding, "I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Oops! Was that too forward? ;)


	76. Chapter 76 D

**Author's Note:** Yep, I know that my posts have been few and far between, compared to how often I posted in the past. But I'm in the middle of midterm season. I just had two midterms this week (one of them was yesterday, and the other was the day before), and I have another one next week. It's really difficult for me to find time to write, and when I _do_ have free time, I hardly have the energy to get psyched up and creative for writing this story. Yeah, it sounds like a bunch of excuses, but it's true.

Anyway, enough of my whining. Here's the chapter!

**Chapter 76**

"I want you to take me, tonight. I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine."

Holy. Bloody. Fuck.

I back up slightly and watch as her large, brown eyes open up to look at me. Her pupils are dilated, making her eyes look darker than usual. She leans forward to kiss me again, but I turn my head to the side. Undeterred, she kisses my jaw and trails her lips down my neck. My breathing quickens, and blood rapidly rushes south.

"You're not allowed to protest or resist," she murmurs against the base of my neck.

"Granger—"

"Shh."

"—don't you think you should—"

I cut myself off with an involuntary gasp as she bites down hard at the base of my neck.

"If you're about to tell me I should think this through, my answer is that I don't want to," she says. She backs up so that she can see my face and continues, "I want you, Draco. Only you."

I feel like I can't breathe. This can't be happening—it must be a dream. I'll probably wake up in a few minutes, lying alone in bed.

"Granger, we shouldn't—"

She frowns at me. "I don't care what we should or shouldn't do. I almost lost you because of that _idiot_, and because you thought that there was a possibility that I could change my mind about you."

"Of course I thought there was a possibility. I'm a _Death Eater_. We are trying to kill you."

She groans at this. "Don't you think the title, 'Death Eater', hardly applies to you?"

As she finishes speaking, her fingers start lightly running through my hair. I wish that she'll never stop. Bloody hell, this won't end well.

"Granger, I—"

"Did you know that it stings when you call me that?" she interrupts.

I narrow my eyes at her. I don't believe her.

"I can call you Draco. Why can't you call me Hermione?" she continues.

I close my eyes. "Fine. Hermione, I don't think I can…" my voice fades.

I don't want to take this step. I don't want to go too far. If I leave her now, I'll still make it out intact. If I let her have this part of me, I won't be able to go back.

Merlin, I sound pathetic.

When I open my eyes, it looks like she's struggling with herself.

"Do you _not_ want me, then? Is that it?" she finally asks.

I restrain the part of me that wants to tell her how wrong she is to think that, how stupid I am for letting her come to that conclusion. It'd be best for both of us if I just… if I just nod, right now.

I nod once. "That's it."

She glares at me, and I realize that that was just a test, a test that I apparently failed. She takes a bold step forward, pressing herself against me, and I bite back a groan. Her arms tighten around my neck, and it takes all of my self-control not to wrap my arms around her.

"Granger—"

"Don't lie to me, Draco."

"I'm not—"

She kisses me again, harder this time, forcing her way into my mouth. It's impossible for me not to respond—I fleetingly consider biting her tongue to warn her off, but I just can't help myself. The darker side of me craves more of her, wants to take her up on her offer and make her irrevocably mine.

My arms wrap around her, pulling her even closer to me.

Her hands slide around and begin to unbutton my shirt.

Fuck.

I release her and grab onto her hands, holding them still.

"Stop," I say, breaking the kiss.

The beast in my chest rails against my decision, demanding more of that intoxicating kiss.

She presses her forehead against mine, and I see that her eyes are still shut.

"Why? I don't want to," she murmurs.

She gives me another quick kiss, and the creature inside me rages again for _more_.

"It's just not… not a good idea," I say tightly. "If you keep this up, I won't be able to control myself."

"I don't want you to control yourself."

I let her brush my hands off, and she continues slowly unbuttoning my shirt. This has to be the hardest thing I've had to do in my life. Reject Hermione Granger.

"Don't you think you need to relax, Draco?" she asks me in a soft voice.

I'm still struggling with myself—I can't let this get too far. I'm sure that she's getting close to the boundary between the part of me that is safe and the part that is… insane.

Granger lowers herself to stand flat on her feet and lifts her eyes to my face. Avoiding her gaze, I decide to shut my eyes, but the loss of sight makes me even more acutely aware of her small fingers working so slowly at the buttons on my shirt.

"You've been stuck working for someone you couldn't possibly control for so long that you think you have to control every aspect of your life that you can," she continues. "But you don't. Not in front of me. I really care about you, Draco."

She pushes my shirt off over my shoulders, and then I feel her lips caress the top of my scar.

I shake my head stiffly. "I can't do this, Granger."

"Hermione," she corrects me.

I sigh. "I can't—"

"Then let me do it for you," she says. "Let _go_."

Her hands trail up my sides, and where our skin comes into contact, I feel like I've been burned. I take a small step back.

How can I do this? How can I deny her something that she seems to want so much? That _I_ want so bloody much? Fuck.

She clearly isn't giving up—she steps forward right with me.

"No protesting or resisting," she says.

"That isn't right, Granger."

"Hermione," she reminds me again. "And how is this not right? You said I could ask anything of you as long as your work with the Order wasn't put in danger. Seeing as you've already been exposed, I don't think that'll be a problem anymore."

Her hands are slowly exploring my torso, and I'm hopelessly distracted.

"Tell me why you're so sure that this shouldn't happen. I want to know," she says.

"I don't want you to regret it," I say.

She looks up at me and smiles, and I curse myself for having opened my eyes. Why does she have to be so beautiful? It'd be so much easier to say no to a hag.

"Then you have nothing to worry about," she says, leaning up to kiss me again.

Her statement does nothing to alleviate my concerns. She may not think that she'll regret it _now_, but she can't speak for herself in the future. I keep my lips pressed together. I can't cave in.

She sucks my lower lip into her mouth and bites down, drawing a groan from me. Her hands finish their exploration at my shoulders, and she pulls away from my lips briefly.

"I said that I wanted you to take me, Draco," she says in a low voice. "That'll require a bit more participation on your part."

"Are you… sure?"

Why am I so fucking weak? Say _no_, goddamn it!

Meanwhile, the other side of me is poised to take over, just waiting for an opening.

_No_. I'm staying in control.

She rolls her eyes at me. "No. I just like to tease men because I can."

"I'm being very serious."

She frowns. "Draco… are you all right?"

Instead of replying, I yank her into my arms and kiss her. She stiffens at first, surprised, but melts into my arms readily.

I'll just steal this moment, so that I'll be able to keep it with me. After she knows all that I've done, she won't be able to accept me, no matter how forgiving she is. It'd be better for both of us if I could stop myself now, if I was just strong enough to tell her no.

But I'm not.

I'm too weak and selfish for that.

My hands slip under her shirt, and the feel of her soft, smooth skin under my palms makes me want to moan. I break our kiss to get some air and kiss my way down her neck. She lets her head fall back, giving me easier access.

I explore her neck and collarbones with my lips and tongue, paying attention to the motions and places that make her gasp or tense up.

Then she pulls my head back up to hers and kisses me.

I slowly walk her backwards toward my bed, and when the backs of her legs hit the mattress, she sits down. I crawl forward, forcing her to lie on her back.

Is this really happening?

I brace myself above her and look into the beautiful brown eyes that have owned me, on some level, since fifth year.

As long as she's sure, I'll go through with this. But part of me can't help hoping that she'll chicken out and change her mind.

"Are you _sure_ this is what you want?" I ask.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yeah, yeah, go ahead. Call me a tease. I didn't include more in this chapter because I know that you people don't like the repeated scenes, and I've already decided what I'll be repeating and what I won't. And I wanted to switch back to Hermione's point of view while maintaining a continuous timeline. I'll try to post again soon.

PS- Yes, I know this chapter may seem a bit short. Seeing as I'm the author, I'm typically aware of how long my chapters are (in fact, chapter length is one of the factors I consider when I decide where to cut scenes off). I decided from the beginning that the chapters in this story were going to be shorter than the ones in _Vengeance_, and I set the range for about 1500-3000 words. Most chapters in this story, therefore, fall in that range. I've actually gone over that 3000-word limit in about 15 chapters. There's only been one chapter that didn't hit 1500, and it was way at the beginning—Chapter 4, if you're curious.

Oh goodness. Rambling, rambling, rambling. Sorry. School is turning me into a nut.


	77. Chapter 77 H

**Author's Note:** I took a midterm earlier today, and now I'm up late finishing all the homework that I put off for studying… but I got lazy. So here's the next chapter for you guys! Still having a bit of trouble writing, though :/

**Chapter 77**

"Are you _sure_ this is what you want?"

I hold back a sigh. "How many times are you going to ask me that?"

He frowns. "I've only asked twice."

"But I can feel it in every kiss, every touch," I say. "You're just waiting for me to tell you to back off, to tell you that I don't want this anymore. But it's not going to happen, Draco. I want this. I want _you_."

My words don't seem to have any effect on him, and I sigh, frustrated.

"Draco, you're killing the mood."

He leans down and kisses my forehead, and I automatically close my eyes. He gently kisses his way down the bridge of my nose and then touches his lips to each eyelid.

Then I feel his breath on my lips.

"I can fix that," he whispers.

Shivers run down my spine at his words. Is he finally on board, then?

I lift my head to kiss him and get a thrill as our lips meet again. This feeling just doesn't get old.

He works my shirt upward, and I break our kiss to tug it over my head. His lips claim mine as soon as my shirt is out of the way, and I plunge my tongue into his mouth, stroking and exploring. I run my hands up and down his sides and slide them up his back, learning the musculature of his torso, and realize that he's propped himself up so that we're hardly touching at all. No, this won't do.

When my hands reach his shoulder blades, I suddenly tug downward. But Draco's arms stay straight, and he lifts his head, opening his eyes to look at me. He seems _amused_.

"Are you going to make me ask you to touch me, Draco?" I huff.

He chuckles and kisses me again, then slowly lowers himself onto his elbows, bringing our lower torsos into contact. His skin feels so hot against mine, and I arch my back slightly to press against him.

I become aware of the bulge in his pants, and I begin to feel a little nervous.

"Don't be scared," Draco mutters against my lips. "If you ever want me to stop, just say the word."

I shake my head minutely. "No, don't stop."

His hands gently cup my breasts over the bra, and I stiffen slightly, despite myself. He pauses, eyes on mine, but I nod once to tell him that it's okay.

I run my hands along his shoulders and back, loving the way that his muscles tense up a little under my fingertips. I wonder what my skin feels like to him. Probably ridiculously rough, I realize reluctantly—Draco has unnaturally perfect skin.

His fingers rub my nipples through the bra, and I gasp, remembering _that_ morning. My response makes him grin. Then he slides his hands around my back, and a moment later, my bra is gone. I instantly feel very exposed and shy.

He kisses my lips again and then works his way down my neck. I know where he's headed, and my belly clenches in anticipation.

I've always felt comfortable with my body, thought that I was about average. But I'm suddenly terrified that Draco won't like what he finds. I've heard of and seen the girls that he's supposedly been with—and with his looks and charm, he really could have had anyone he wanted. I know that I can't possibly compare to those absolutely gorgeous women…

"You're beautiful, Hermione," he murmurs against my skin.

Does he know what I was just thinking?

He nips at my collarbone and then sucks just beneath it to leave a love bite.

"You weren't using…" I begin, but my voice fades away—his lips and tongue are traveling downward, and it's becoming very distracting.

"I wasn't using…?" he prompts before continuing his slow journey down my chest.

As I try to remember what I was going to ask him, he reaches the valley between my breasts. I fight the urge to push him away and cover myself up.

Then I remember my question. "You weren't using Legilimency on me, were you?"

His mouth closes around my left nipple, and shivers run through me. My back arches involuntarily, and I'm hardly aware of the actual motions that he's making with his tongue and teeth—I only feel the ripples of heat that reverberate through my body.

I thread my fingers in his hair and bite my lip to stop myself from moaning.

Then he stops, and I feel him lift his head. Frowning, I lift my own head and see his eyes, dark with desire, staring up at me. Liquid heat pools between my legs at the sight of the blatant lust emanating from those deep pools of silver.

"Don't hold it in," he says in a husky voice. "Let me hear you."

Before I can respond, he lowers his head to my other breast. A small moan escapes me, and my cheeks flush. I'm rewarded with gentle nips around my areola, and I sigh at the sensation.

His hands are lightly rubbing circles on my lower back, staying in a respectful place. Ordinarily, I'm sure that I would have found it sweet, but right now, I just want more of his touch, and this… it almost feels like he's being _prudish_.

I slide one hand down his back and give his firm arse a squeeze. He thrusts his hips against mine and lazily flicks his tongue over my nipple in response, and I feel like he's slowly melting me into a puddle.

Then he slides downward, and two emotions war within me: disappointment that he's stopped creating those delicious sensations in me and nervousness for what's coming next.

"Draco…"

He pauses to look up at me, and I swallow hard.

From the look in his eyes, I can tell that he would do almost anything that I asked of him. I'm certain that if I asked him to stop, he'd back off immediately. If I begged him to fuck me into the mattress, I think he'd be able to put aside whatever reasons he has for holding back. He would kill for me—he showed that long ago. I hardly doubt that he would die for me as well.

Merlin, he really is… _mine_.

The realization terrifies me as much as it excites me.

"Hermione?" he prods in a low voice.

His tongue dips into my bellybutton, and I let my head fall back against the bed. Taking that as permission to continue, he kisses his way to my waistline. The bed rises as he slides off the end. Then I feel his fingers unbuttoning my jeans.

Oh, God.

He's touched me here before, but the fact that he's going to be conscious this time…

My breaths quicken, and he lowers the zipper slowly.

"I won't hurt you," he says.

"I know."

My voice sounds ridiculously shaky to me, and I wonder if he hears it, too.

He pulls my jeans down, and I lift my hips to help him get them off. Then his hands run up and down my bare legs, and I inhale deeply. I glance down and see that he's kneeling between my legs, eyes roving over my body.

As though he senses my eyes on him, he lifts his face slightly and fixes a predatory gaze on me. My mind tells me I should be wary of that look in his eyes, but my body tightens in eager anticipation of what he's about to do to me.

Without taking his eyes off mine, he lightly strokes me through my underwear. I tense up as a tingle of pleasure runs through my body.

He grins. "Someone's a bit excited," he says, playing with the edge of my panties.

Oh God, I want him to just push them to the side and…

His thumbs hook under the waistband of my underwear, and for a moment, some of the control that's been blissfully absent from his eyes seems to return to the surface. I almost begin to worry that he's changed his mind. But it disappears quickly, so quickly that I wonder if I only imagined it.

Then a thin finger runs along my slit, and I gasp—how could I not have noticed that he'd removed my last garment?

He inserts two fingers inside me, drawing a faint moan from me. Then the bed dips under his weight, and I open my eyes to see that he's lying on his side, facing me. My cheeks redden as I realize that he's watching my reaction to his work down below.

I close my eyes again to avoid his stare, reveling in the sensations that are building up under the slow pumping of his digits.

"You remember that morning?"

His voice is a breathy whisper right by my ear.

"I was dreaming of finger-fucking you."

His words somehow increase my desire for him, and the pace that he's set isn't enough for me. I buck my hips, hoping he'll get the message.

His free hand begins to toy with my nipple, and I sigh breathily.

Then he's sliding off the bed again, shifting to kneel between my legs. His fingers continue to pump at a slow, measured rate, and I bite back the pleas that are threatening to fall from my lips.

He presses a kiss to the inside of my thigh, and I shiver in anticipation. Then he withdraws his fingers, and before I can stop myself, I let out a disappointed whine. I clap my hands over my mouth, and he chuckles.

"You're going to be making more noise than that, Hermione. Might as well let go."

Then he leans forward, pulls my legs up over his shoulders, and lowers his face to my soaked, aching lips. His tongue makes a long, languid swipe up the length of my slit, and I moan at the sensation. On his second lick, he dips in slightly, collecting some of the proof of my arousal. My hips jerk slightly, but he holds them in place and dives in.

One of his hands leaves my hip, and his thumb rubs over my clit in small circles. I arch my back and cry out at the assault.

_Oh_, god. Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck!_

He pauses and looks up at me, grinning. "Language, Hermione."

Clearly, the filter between my brain and my mouth is gone.

"Shut up and keep going!" I demand.

He draws one of my pussy lips into his mouth and massages it with his tongue. I hear his name in a throaty voice—_my_ voice. He repeats the motion on the other side, and I moan wantonly.

A coil low in my belly tightens as he shifts to tease my hypersensitive nub, flicking it gently and then swirling his tongue in small circles around it.

"Stop teasing me, Draco," I pant.

His mouth is too occupied to reply, but his dark eyes look up at me heatedly, and I feel myself get impossibly wetter. He slips one finger inside me, followed by another, working me up again. I want to drop my head back against the bed, but his eyes are holding me captive, and I can't seem to look away.

I don't _want_ to look away.

That coil is winding tighter and tighter, and I just want the pressure to be released.

"Draco, _please_—"

I don't even know what exactly I'm begging for, but in the next moment, I'm rocketing off toward the stars, screaming his name. I'm hardly aware that he's lifted my hips up to lap up my juices.

I relax completely into the bed, feeling so, so content.

Then he crawls up beside me and smiles—_really_ smiles.

"You're beautiful," I whisper breathlessly, mindlessly.

His smile widens a bit, and his eyes twinkle at me.

"I believe you just stole my line."


	78. Chapter 78 D

**Author's Note:** I actually don't have much to say, for once. Hmm, how strange.

:)

**Chapter 78**

"You're beautiful."

I resist the urge to laugh out loud at that. "I believe you just stole my line."

She smiles, and the sight takes my breath away. She looks divine, utterly relaxed, with her long, brown hair fanning out behind her on the bed. I lean down and press my lips to hers, hardly able to believe that _she_ wants _me_.

I start to lift my head away from hers, but she reaches up to grip the back of my neck and hold me in place. Then she's deepening the kiss, and I groan as our tongues come into contact. I crawl over her, prop myself up on my elbows, and kiss her like there's no tomorrow.

She arches her back, pressing her breasts against my chest, and I love the feeling of her skin directly against mine. I wonder if my scar is a turn-off for her—it's worked both ways for the girls I've slept with.

Then I become aware of some background noise that is as annoying as it is amusing.

I finally break our kiss, and Granger—Hermione, I can call her Hermione, now—fixes her round, brown eyes on me.

She smiles. "Draco—"

"Shh. Listen."

An adorable crease appears between her eyebrows as she frowns at me, but then she hears what I hear, and a small smile plays across her lips.

Muffled shouts are floating into the room. "Hermione! Hermione, come back! Don't do it!"

I grin. "Good job, Hermione. He heard you from the kitchen."

She blushes. "I think _you're_ the one who did a good job," she mumbles shyly.

I lean down to brush my lips against hers briefly. "You're welcome," I whisper.

"What could I ever do to repay you?" she asks teasingly.

"Never leave this bed," I reply, smirking.

She smiles and pulls me down into another long, mind-numbing kiss. When I finally turn my head away to get some air, I'm extremely aware of the part of my anatomy that I've been trying hard to ignore. I start to lift my hips so that it won't be so obvious to her, but she wraps her legs around my waist and grinds her hips against mine a few times.

"Fuck, Hermione," I groan.

"I said I wanted you to take me," she says. "You still haven't done that."

"What, one orgasm isn't enough for you?" I tease her. "You're a greedy little minx, aren't you?"

"Who said you could make me come again?"

I raise an eyebrow at her—I'm sure she doesn't need to hear me say what I'm thinking.

"Arrogant bastard," she says, attempting to frown and failing.

I start to roll off her, but her legs tighten around my waist, trapping me. It doesn't help that gravity is on her side.

"You still haven't done what I asked you to," she reminds me again.

Fuck. Can't she just be satisfied and leave it at that?

You did decide to go through with this as long as she was sure of it, the beast in my chest points out.

I stare into her eyes, willing her to understand why I can't do it.

Why can't you? Bloody hell, just shag her already.

Talking to myself… I'm officially a nut.

She sighs. "Draco, look at me."

"I _am_ looking at you."

"Yes, but you're not thinking about me."

Fucking hell, I'm _always_ thinking about you, Hermione.

"Why can't you just let go?" she asks.

Because I don't want you to see the other side of me.

"I know that there's a part of you that… that wants me," she says.

_All_ of me wants you.

"Why can't you just give in to that part of you?" she finishes.

I don't have a response that I'm willing to tell her. I won't admit that I'm afraid of what it'll do to me. I'm afraid that I'll lose even more of myself to her than I already have.

Then her lips are gently pressing against mine, coaxing me to respond. Unable to help myself, I deepen the kiss, needing more of that sensation. Again I feel her pressing up against me, increasing the contact between us.

Fuck.

I lift my face away from hers and open my eyes to see that she's looking at me with an almost angry expression.

"Draco, I can _feel_ how much you want me," she says, grinding against me again.

I groan involuntarily. I have to come up with something better if I'm going to stop this.

Why the fuck do I have to stop this so badly? I'm mental.

"The Love Potion Antidote—"

I interrupt myself and shift my weight onto my left elbow so that I can reach a hand down between us—her hands have gotten to work on my belt, and I can't let that happen.

She looks up at me with exaggeratedly innocent eyes.

"It was really old," I say. "It could have had some effects that are impairing your judgment."

"That's bullshit," she says, still working on my belt. I'm able to pull one of her hands away, but the other one is now tugging the belt through the loops, and I feel my resistance wearing down.

"Potions can spoil," I say.

She lifts her head and catches my lower lip between her teeth, tugging downward. As she begins to suck on it, I moan and release the hand that I'd captured. Fuck, I've clearly made it too obvious to her that this is a weak spot for me.

Oh, bugger it. I can regret this all I want in the future.

I push myself up off her and unbutton my pants. Her heated gaze glides over my chest and arms before shifting toward the area that my hands are currently covering. I never thought that a look from a girl could be this fucking _hot_.

I rid myself of my pants and pause before removing my briefs.

"Yes, Draco, I'm sure I want you to fuck me," she says impatiently.

Bloody…

Instead of removing my last article of clothing, I lean back down over her and kiss her lips. She immediately opens her mouth, and I dip my tongue inside. I'll never have enough of her.

Her hips start gyrating beneath me, and her kiss quickly becomes more desperate.

I deepen the kiss and pinch her nipples once. Her yelp of surprise is muffled by my mouth, and she arches her back again. I slide my hands down the contour of her body, loving the feel of her soft skin.

Then I become aware of her hands, pushing down at my briefs. I start grinning, but she seems annoyed by my amusement and gives me a sharp nip on my bottom lip.

I break the kiss and smirk at her. "Eager, are we?"

"Don't torture me," she says, a very serious expression on her face.

"Are you okay?" I ask, frowning. I don't like how serious she seems right now.

She sighs. "I don't know how you can do this, Draco. How can you hold a conversation when… when…"

A grin starts sliding back into place across my lips. She's never lusted so strongly before, and she doesn't know how to handle it.

"When what?" I ask, feigning ignorance.

She lets out an adorable growl and thrusts her hips upward a few times, rubbing herself against my still-covered dick.

Fuuuuuck. I want to pound into her so hard that she won't be able to move in the morning.

"When… _that_," she says.

"Eloquent," I manage to reply.

Another frustrated whimper from the bushy-haired girl.

She's still too shy to take what she wants. Somehow that innocence makes her all the more desirable to me.

I kiss her again to distract her while I lose my last piece of clothing. Her hands run down my lower back and softly brush my bare hips. I feel like I've gone up in flames, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to plow into her immediately.

I reach down between us and gently rub at her clit. She breaks our kiss to let out a satisfied moan, and I let my lips trail back toward her ear. I press two digits into her, stretching her out so that my entry might be a little less painful for her.

Fuck, I want her _right now_.

I add a third finger, and she gasps. I pump them in and out of her slowly—just fast enough to keep her unbearably aroused but not fast enough for her to get any real satisfaction out of it. She squirms against my fingers, trying to increase friction, but I alter my pace with the thrusting of her hips to maintain the same maddening rhythm—I've learned from past experience that driving girls mad with desire seems to lessen the pain.

She digs her fingernails into my shoulders and becomes vocal very quickly.

"Oh god, Draco please—_fuck!_—please do it already! Ahh—_ahh _—I can't take this anymore!"

Just as she finishes speaking, I pull my fingers out of her, line myself up with her opening, and plunge in.

Fucking _hell_, she's tight.

Warm, unbelievably slick, and bloody _tight_. I feel like I'm about to explode already, like a bloody virgin.

I lift my head to look at her and see that her eyes are screwed shut. Her body has gone rigid beneath me, and I clench my jaw, reminding myself that I shouldn't move yet.

I kiss her forehead, then her nose.

Then I whisper against her lips, "If you want me to stop, say so."

Instead of replying, she presses her lips against mine, and I let my eyes flutter shut. My hips jerk forward a little, and I have to remind myself firmly not to move.

_Not yet._

I lift my head to look at her and watch as she opens her eyes. They're dark, hazy with desire.

Deep inside me, that beast is roaring in triumph.

I want to pull out and then sink back into her, but I have to make sure she's all right first. Before I can ask the question, she shifts a bit beneath me, inadvertently drawing me farther inside her. I groan and stiffen to keep my lower body still.

"Move," she tells me.

I take a deep breath and focus on keeping control over my motions so that I don't hurt her any more than I have to. I pull out slightly and then thrust forward, going a bit deeper this time. She lets out a light moan and pulls my face toward hers to kiss me. Taking that as a cue to continue, I repeat the motion.

Fuck!

I hope she's close, because I don't know how long I can hold on.

My next thrust brings me even farther inside her, and I groan.

This is torture. It's ecstasy.

A voice in my head keeps telling me that this is wrong, that I shouldn't be doing this. Not now, not with _her_. I'll hurt her. It's wrong.

But nothing has ever felt so _right_.

She starts lifting her hips to meet mine, wrapping her long legs around me to pull me closer. Her moans get louder, and I make out my name among the almost unintelligible sounds coming out of her mouth.

Hearing my name slip from her lips at this moment nearly unmakes me, and I clench my jaw, attempting to control myself. Maintaining the rhythm of our hips, I cover her mouth with mine, swallowing her cries.

Her hands grip my shoulders tightly as I start moving faster—I have to bring her soon if it's going to happen at all.

She breaks our kiss to gasp for air.

"Draco—so close—_fuck_—"

I can only grunt in response. I reach down between us and press the pad of my thumb against her clit, rubbing it in small, quick circles.

She calls my name again, and that does me in. I explode inside her just as her walls begin to convulse around me, greedily trying to hold me inside her.

_This_ is heaven.

I continue to thrust through my release, pumping into her a few more times before collapsing on top of her, spent. I kiss her neck a few times as I try to catch my breath, and she runs her hands up and down my back.

Then I realize that my weight is crushing her and start to lift myself up. But her arms tighten around me, pulling me down against her.

"Don't move," she mutters hoarsely.

"Lost your voice, there?" I tease her.

Her fingers lightly trace circles on my back. "Maybe a little."

She sounds sleepy.

I kiss my way up to her ear and then prop myself up on my elbows.

She smiles up at me, but it's clear from the way her eyelids are drooping that she's worn out. I lower my head to kiss her, and she lets out a contented sigh.

"Thank you, Draco," she whispers against my lips.

I bite back the first response that comes to mind and kiss her lips again instead.

Then I pull out and shift to lie beside her. She turns toward me and burrows into my chest, and once again I can't believe how fucking lucky I am. I summon the blanket from the other bed and cover us with it before wrapping my arms around her.

I kiss the top of her head, and she mumbles something unintelligible against my chest.

If I can't say the words aloud, I can at least think them.

I love you, Hermione Granger.


	79. Chapter 79 H

**Author's Note:** Meh, normal apologies, haven't updated in a while (for me). I'm still having trouble writing, but I think I'm doing a little better than I was a few weeks ago, which is a good sign.

**Chapter 79**

He pushes two fingers into me, and I open my legs just a bit wider, stifling a cry. It feels so _good_.

But it seems as though my body is insatiable—he pumps his fingers into me a few times, but the sensation grows less satisfying, and then I'm bucking my hips, trying to increase the friction between his fingers and my quivering insides.

Sensing my frustration, he slides a third finger into me.

I gasp, adjusting to this new width. He slows the motion of his fingers, and the novelty quickly wears off, leaving me wanting more. I grind against his hand, wondering if it's possible to just come like this, but his fingers are refusing to cooperate with me. I glance at his face and see that his brow is furrowed—he seems very focused on the task at hand.

The tips of his fingers graze some sensitive spot inside me, and I let out a loud moan. _Oh_, god.

I grip his shoulders tightly, anchoring myself to him as I press against his hand, silently begging for him to touch that spot again.

But he's avoiding it. I can't tell whether or not he's avoiding it intentionally, but I _need_ that feeling.

His fingers press against that spot again, and a wonderful heat courses through my body. Then he starts to avoid it again, and I groan in frustration.

When he repeats the process yet again, a stream of words flies out of my mouth, punctuated with gasped expletives. I'm hardly aware of what I'm saying—all I want is for him to fill me up.

He withdraws his fingers, and for a split second, I wonder if my begging has pissed him off and driven him away. Then he's shoving his erect member into me, and though my mouth falls open, no sound comes out.

_Ow_. Oh fuck, that really _hurts_.

I take deep breaths and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the pain.

But somehow, there's still a big part of me that wants more. What's wrong with me? This hurts, but I… I want him to move.

I feel his lips on my forehead, and then my nose. Then his lips brush against mine, sending chills through me.

"If you want me to stop, say so," he murmurs.

No, don't stop.

I seem to have lost control over my voice, so I just kiss his lips softly. His lower body shifts, pushing a little bit farther inside me, and with the new bit of pain comes a strong wave of pleasure.

_Ohh_…

I slowly open my eyes and see that he's staring down at me, completely motionless. I'm mesmerized by his dark grey eyes, and the pain seems to fade away, replaced by the same desire that I'd felt earlier.

"Move," I say, craving that unique sensation.

He retreats from my body slightly, and I'm about to protest when his hips swing forward again, pushing in a bit farther. I moan in response, sliding my hands up to his head so that I can pull him down for a kiss. He seems to understand from the frantic movement of my lips that I need more of him, so he pulls back and thrusts into me again, drawing long moan from me.

He plunges into me repeatedly, and each thrust seems to increase the tension more than the last. I arch my back, and the new angle lets him get even deeper inside me, hitting nerves that I hadn't even known existed. I kiss him deeply, and he increases the pace of his thrusts.

I let my head fall back against the bed and beg him to give me more—I'm so close. So, _so_ close.

He reaches down between us to play with my bundle of nerves again, and I feel that I'm right on the edge of the cliff, an inch from tumbling over. I cry his name between more expletives and pleas.

Then he groans, and I feel a burst of heat inside me—did he just…

But before I have time to finish my thought, I'm shooting off into the darkness. The rush is invigorating, beautiful, incomparable.

When I finally come back down to Earth, I feel Draco's body pressed against mine.

So close to me. I rub his back gently, catching my breath.

He starts to lift himself up, but I tighten my hold on him. I don't want him to be away from me. He's _mine_ now, and he's not going anywhere.

Merlin, when did I become so possessive?

"Don't move," I tell him.

Oh, my voice…

"Lost your voice, there?" he taunts.

I crack an eye open and see an amused expression on his face. "Maybe a little," I reply.

He leaves a trail of soft kisses from the corner of my mouth to my ear, and I allow myself a satisfied sigh. Then he lifts himself up onto his elbows, and I smile at him.

So, so beautiful…

He kisses my lips, and I marvel at just how gentle his actions are. How can a man be so _good_ to a woman? I smile sleepily.

"Thank you, Draco," I whisper.

Instead of replying, he only kisses me again.

I don't mind. I don't think I'll ever have enough kisses from this man.

Then he shifts away from me, and I feel a huge sense of loss. I immediately turn to face him and shift into his arms, ensuring that he won't leave me. If I wake up in the morning and find that he's gone, I will be _very_ displeased.

A blanket covers us, and I smile against his chest.

Good night, Draco.

* * *

I wake up with my head resting on the pillow, my forehead pressed into his neck. I kiss his chest, next to his scar. Then I lift a hand to touch it again. I wonder what spell Blaise used on him to cut so deeply…

I gently roll Draco onto his back and prop myself up on one elbow to look at his face. He looks so relaxed and unguarded in this moment, and I'm suddenly reminded of his face back when he was eleven or twelve years old—he'd been so confident and untroubled by anything around him. I'd secretly envied him for that because I was never so sure of myself. Now, I wish he could look so relaxed all the time.

I remember the look on his face after I'd explained my _feelings_ for Ron. God, that was awful.

I lean down and kiss his lips. He lets out a low, sleepy groan and slowly moves his lips in response. I wonder if he's waking up yet.

Then I reach down, trailing my hand along the length of his body. I wrap my hand around his already hardening member. This gets a louder groan from him, and his hips jerk upward slightly. I smile against his lips and throw a leg over him, straddling his hips. I wince at the soreness between my legs, but I don't want to stop here.

I wonder how far I can go before he wakes up.

A few more light tugs, and he's fully erect. I stare at his thick cock—I didn't really get a good look at it last night. I wet my fingers with the bit of liquid oozing from the top and lift my index finger to my lips to sample it.

Then I wrap my hand around him again. I can't believe something this big was _inside_ me last night.

I scoot forward and line him up with my entrance.

"Having fun?"

My eyes flit upward to meet his. His voice was deceptively amused—his eyes are dark, heavily dilated.

I hold his gaze as I slowly lower my body, impaling myself on him, inch by delicious inch. His breathing quickens, and he drops his head back to the pillow, muttering a string of curses.

It hurts to be stretched out so much, but it's a pain that's somehow so addicting and pleasurable. I had never understood what Fay or Lavender had meant when they were talking about sex, and neither had Parvati—she'd been a virgin like me. Although I still don't quite understand _why_ it's so pleasurable to be split in half, I certainly don't want to give up the feeling.

When he's fully inside me, I wriggle my hips and enjoy the tingling sensations that shoot up my spine.

Then he flips me onto my back, and I squeal, surprised.

He rocks his hips against mine, and his features quickly become strained.

Oh, oh, _ohhh_, oh _God…_

He grips my hips and adjusts the angle so that he rubs my clit with each hard thrust. My moans seem to get progressively louder, and I wonder if all the noise bothers him at all.

Then my body seizes up, and I clamp down hard around him, reveling in the tumultuous waves of bliss that travel over me. He explodes inside me, filling me up, and I feel as though I'm a puddle of jelly.

He braces his weight above me and lowers his head to kiss me.

"That was the best wake-up call I've ever gotten," he says in a low voice.

I smile and kiss him back. "You're welcome," I reply.

* * *

"It's really quiet."

"I don't know if that's a good sign or a bad one."

The muffled voices are coming from the living room, and I lift my head to look at the door. "Blaise and Harry are back," I observe.

Beneath me, Draco yawns and waves a hand at the door, casting a Muffling Charm. Then he says, "It's got to be past noon already—about time we got out of bed."

"Stay here," I tell him. "I want to talk to them alone."

He kisses me before removing his arms from around me. "Sure."

I start to get off him and pause, suddenly feeling very shy. His face seems to hold no emotion, but then I notice the way that his eyes are sparkling and realize that he's happy.

"What are you looking at?" he asks.

I smile. "I'm learning how to read you."

He grins. "Go get dressed and talk to your friends. I always knew you'd put them before me," he says, mock-pouting.

I can't help but laugh at that. "You're adorable."

"That's not good," he says, frowning. "I'm supposed to be arrogant and unlikeable."

I lean down to kiss him again before sitting up, drawing the blankets up around me to cover myself up. I know that he must have seen me last night—all of me—but I can't help feeling shy about my body. He doesn't comment, and when I look up at his face, I see that he's smiling.

But the sparkle in his eyes has gone.

"Draco, are you all right?" I ask him.

His smile becomes infinitely more convincing, and if I hadn't already noticed the difference in his eyes, I would have no doubts about his emotions.

"Of course I am," he says lightly. "Go on."

I bite my lip. Should I tell him that I see right through him? I slip off the bed and gather my clothing. When I look in his direction, I see that he's closed his eyes. As I get dressed, I continue to watch him, wondering if he'll peek. But he doesn't.

When I'm fully dressed, I sit back down on the bed. "Draco…"

He opens his eyes to look at me, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yes?"

"I don't know what's happened to you, but we have to talk about it," I say softly. "I definitely need to talk to Harry and Blaise right now, but when I'm through with them, you and I should sit down for a talk."

"Whatever you want," he replies readily—maybe a little _too_ readily.

"You aren't planning on leaving, are you?" I ask, suddenly worried.

He shakes his head. "No. I'm not going anywhere."

I lean down and kiss him again. I can't seem to get enough of these soft, soft lips. "You'd better not be lying. If you leave without saying goodbye, like last time, I'll be very upset."

"I won't," he replies. "I have nowhere left to go."

I realize belatedly that he's lost his family and that Malfoys are well-known for valuing family over… pretty much all else. I pull up on his shoulders, and he sits up. I wrap my arms around him tightly.

"Are _you_ all right?" he asks me.

"I'm sorry about your family," I say softly.

"Oh, that. Don't worry about it," he replies.

I release him and back up to look at his face. He looks completely sincere, but now I can't tell whether or not it's a front. I need to talk to Blaise about Draco—if anyone understands him, it's Blaise.

"I'll be right back, then," I say.

He nods. "Bye, Hermione."

I smile, but it feels forced. Before he can comment, I get up and exit the room.


	80. Chapter 80 H

**Author's Note:** I just had a midterm today, and I don't think it went so well… but oh well! Life goes on. I realized that it had been a little while since my last update, so I decided to put this up for you guys. I have a problem set due tomorrow morning though, and I haven't even started yet… probably gonna be pulling an all-nighter again tonight. Not healthy! xD

**Chapter 80**

"Hermione," Harry says with a smile. "We tried the bedroom door, but it was locked, so we weren't sure…"

"Everything's fine here," I say. "Why have you two come back? I thought you were supposed to be watching over Neville."

"McGonagall's got that under control for now," Harry says. "We wanted to check on you and Ron. Where is Ron, by the way? And Malfoy?"

I look away from Harry, saving his questions for later, and notice that Blaise is looking out the window at the garden outside.

"Blaise, I wanted to talk to you," I say.

"Oh, is this private?" Harry asks. "I can—"

"No, I need you to stay here, too," I interrupt him.

Blaise slowly turns around to face me, and his expression is carefully neutral. He exchanges glances with Harry, and I sigh.

"I think each of you owes me an apology and an explanation," I say.

Blaise grins. "She's back."

Harry looks skeptical. "So it's true."

"Blaise, you'd better be taking me seriously," I say. "This isn't funny. I wasn't myself for almost _three days_, boys. I'm not entirely sure about you, Harry, but Blaise, I _know_ you had a clue."

"I… didn't want to believe it was true," Harry admits.

"Well, don't you know me at all?"

"Of course I do. But Ron's my best mate! I never thought he would—"

"Well, he did," I say shortly.

"Where is he?" Harry asks, looking vengeful.

"In a minute, I'll tell you. Blaise?"

He sighs. "I'm sorry."

I put my hands on my hips and look at him expectantly. "And?"

He only shrugs.

"I said an apology _and_ an explanation. I'm sure I don't have to specify what exactly I'd like you to explain."

"Well, now that we know the truth, you're going to think my reasoning was stupid, so why should I bother?"

"Blaise, I'm getting impatient now," I say.

"Fine. I knew about the love potion a moment after I saw you kissing him."

"Why didn't you _say_ something?" I hiss.

"This is the part you won't like so much."

Harry looks over at Blaise, curious.

"I… suspected that Weasley was the traitor."

Harry frowns. "Even after Shacklebolt and McGonagall decided—"

"Yes, even after their private interrogation," Blaise says.

"And why did that prevent you from trying to clear my head?" I prod.

"Because even though I don't like Weasley, I've come to know him over the years. I knew that he'd go for the strongest love potion out there. Especially since Harry and I would be around."

"All right, so you didn't want to scare me off by trying to convince me that I was being controlled by a love potion. That I follow. Why didn't you just force-feed me the antidote?"

"You say that like it's so easy."

"Why didn't you?"

"I thought Weasley was the traitor. I was worried that he might have altered the potion with something that would kill you if you were released from its influence. Because I didn't think he'd have the stomach to feed you a love potion without being instructed to do so."

"And why in the world would the Death Eaters want me to be in love with Ron, hmm?" I ask. His reasoning really is turning out to be strange.

"If he were the traitor, then having you under his influence would be like getting two workers for the price of one. Under that potion, you would have done anything he asked you to, simply because it was for him," Blaise explains.

I can't argue that point, because it's true—while under the influence, I probably would have done almost anything he demanded of me.

"See, now that we know it was Longbottom and not Weasley, this all seems irrelevant and overly paranoid. But I didn't want to take any chances," Blaise says.

I sigh. "I just wish one of you had done something. I still remember every time I kissed him, and every time I snapped at you guys, and it really, really bothers me."

"I'm really sorry, Hermione," Blaise says.

"Where's Ron?" Harry asks me. "I need to give him a piece of my mind—he should know better."

"In the kitchen," I reply.

Harry and Blaise exchange glances again before heading toward the kitchen. As they reach the door, Blaise pulls it open.

"Would you like to go first, or shall I?" Harry asks him.

"By all means, go ahead. I can't wait to see this," Blaise answers.

The door shuts behind them, and I start to follow—as wrong as Ron was, I shouldn't let them get too carried away. I know that Harry and Blaise are both relatively even-tempered, but from past experience, I've learned that Blaise gets extremely vengeful on behalf of Harry and me.

But before I can reach the door, the fireplace crackles to life, and I immediately cast a Disillusionment Charm over myself. I turn around to see Fenrir Greyback's ugly head floating in the flames.

"Come out, come out, little Malfoy!" he calls. "I know you're hiding in your filthy little hole like the stinking rat you are!"

I move toward Draco's bedroom and reach the door just as he pulls it open. I push at his chest, sure that he'll understand I want him to stay out of the room. But he brushes my hands off.

"Let me go," he says.

"Ah, I hear you," Greyback says. "Show yourself!"

Draco smiles faintly in my direction before walking into the living room, in sight of the fireplace.

"Hello, Greyback. Nice of you to show your furry face here," he says.

"The Dark Lord wishes to see you, Malfoy."

"Does he really? I'm honored," Draco says sarcastically.

"If you don't give yourself up, all the Death Eaters in Britain will be marching on Hogwarts, and we will not stop until every single thing in the castle that breathes is dead," Greyback threatens.

"What, does he think that _that_ is a threat to me?" Draco responds coolly. "He's seen what I've done. He knows what I care about. Does he honestly think I betrayed him to join a group of blockheaded, self-righteous warriors willing to die for Mudbloods?"

I resist the urge to punch him. This is an act, and I know it, but I still hate listening to those words coming out of his mouth.

"Then enlighten me, young Malfoy, why _did_ you defect? What did you want that the Dark Lord could not give you?"

"That is none of your concern. If he wishes to speak to me, he can do it himself."

Greyback scowls.

"What, is the Dark Lord above using the Floo Network?"

"All those lives will be on your hands, Malfoy. You have until tonight to decide. In a few hours, if you do not show yourself, Death Eaters will surround Hogwarts. How many people are you willing to sacrifice to save your own hide?"

Draco's smile is cold. "Voldemort could kill all the women and children in the world and say that it was because of me, but it's just because he's a bloodthirsty maniac. The blood won't be on my hands; it'll be on his."

Greyback scowls again.

"Why do you think the Dark Lord chose to send you, Greyback? Do you know the reason?" Draco says. Greyback begins to speak, but Draco cuts him off. "He remembers that I was once afraid of you. That's why. Well, tell him this for me. When I see you, all I see is a creature that used to be a man. A creature that prides itself on how disgusting it is. You're like a Mudblood who's proud of his blood status."

Greyback's now pointing his wand at Draco, furious.

"You don't scare me, you overgrown mutt," Draco finishes.

A jet of bright yellow light flies at Draco, but he repels it immediately and then extinguishes the flames in the fireplace, forcing Greyback out.

I wait a moment before revealing myself. "Why is that connection still open?" I ask him.

"Would you rather have had Voldemort and his Death Eaters show up at Hogwarts with no warning?" he responds.

"I suppose that's a good point," I say. "What are we going to do, then? You can't give yourself up."

"I could. But I'm sure it wouldn't do much good in the long run—he'll work his way back to Hogwarts eventually, whether or not I give myself up."

"Exactly. So you can't just surrender."

Draco nods. "Do you think Blaise and Potter are finished yet?"

I frown. "You were listening to our conversation?"

"Was I not supposed to?"

"That was the point of asking you to stay in the bedroom," I say.

He grins. "If I say that I'm sorry, will you forgive me?"

"Maybe."

"I'm sorry," he says, giving me his most charming smile.

I sigh and try to hold back a smile but can't. I lean up to give him a quick kiss, but before I can back away, his arms lock around me, pulling me close. He deepens the kiss, and I moan into his mouth. The room instantly feels ten times hotter.

I feel like he's a drug, something that I won't ever be able to get enough of. I never want to stop kissing him, never want this moment to end.

But eventually, our need for oxygen pulls us apart.

"God, I want to fuck you right now," I whisper breathlessly.

He shudders at my words. I can feel the bulge in his pants, and I wonder if I just spoke his thoughts.

"Do we have time?" I ask.

"I think Potter and Blaise could use some more time with Weasley, right?" Draco replies, glancing over at the kitchen door.

I nod. "Right."

He reaches down and pulls me up against him, thrusting his hips once against mine. The bit of contact, even through our clothing, sends a jolt of pleasure through me as my body remembers the feeling of being filled up by him.

I start unbuttoning his shirt, and he walks me backward toward the bedroom. When my back hits the door, I pause halfway down the shirt and start groping behind me to find the doorknob.

But then he breaks our kiss and pulls me away from the door and into his arms. I freeze, sensing a change in his emotions. I slowly run my hands along his sides and then over the muscled expanse of his back, but he only continues to hold me to his chest.

Yes, there's definitely been a shift in his mood. I want to know if he'll tell me what this is about…

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he says softly.

I back up a tiny bit in his arms and turn my head, feathering soft kisses over his neck and shoulder. "No, Draco, you're not fine," I reply. "There's something about you that's different from before."

"Oh really?" he replies, a hint of mockery in his voice. "How come I don't know anything about it?"

"Be honest with me," I say. "I… I know that you've suffered a lot. You were working with Voldemort. Of course you suffered. I want to help you."

The desire that ruled my actions just moments ago has faded away, replaced with concern. Though I would have no objection to bedding him this instant, I sense that he needs to be comforted, even though he insists he doesn't want to be. Draco has such a strong sense of pride that he would never admit to needing consolation.

"Draco, you know that I care about you," I say. "Please don't shut me out now."

"What am I supposed to do, then? What do you want from me?"

His voice sounds the same as usual, but there's a hint of sadness in his tone that I'm completely unaccustomed to hearing from him.

"I want to know what happened to you after you left," I say.

"I left a lot of times. Which time are you talking about?"

"The last time I saw you before Ron got to me with that damned potion."

After a pause, he says, "I went to Russia."

"So you _were_ in Russia," I say.

"What do you mean?"

"We heard that Voldemort had gone to Russia, and I wondered if you were there with him."

"I was," he says.

"What happened in Russia?"

"Nothing worth telling. He tried to recruit some more men to his bloody cause."

"Was that all?" I ask.

"Yes."

I push lightly against his chest to get him to loosen his hold on me. Then I back up a bit so that I can see his face. His expression is guarded, and I feel a pang in my chest.

"Draco, you're not telling me everything, are you?"

He smiles. "I wouldn't lie to you."

"But that's already a lie. You and Blaise are both liars who always act like they're telling the truth."

"If I'm always lying, why do you bother asking?"

"Why can't you just let me in?"

He doesn't respond.

I heave a sigh. "You have no idea how frustrating this is for me," I tell him. "Don't you trust me?"

He closes his eyes to avoid my gaze.

"What did last night mean to you?" I demand.

He stiffens slightly but still makes no response.

"Don't tell me now that you've been lying all along about your feelings," I warn him. "I won't believe you."

"It's not because of you, Hermione," he finally says. "There are some things that I'll never tell anyone."

"If you keep them buried away, you'll never give yourself a chance to heal," I say. "Don't you think you deserve that?"

He shakes his head. "No."

I bite my lip. "Why not?"

"Don't ask."

"I already did. Just tell me."

"No. I'm sorry."

Disappointment wells up in my chest, and I wish that I could throw a temper tantrum and make him tell me everything. But I know very well that that'll get me nowhere with Draco, not with his personality. I'll just have to let it go, for now. Maybe I'll be able to convince Blaise to wheedle it out of him.

"We should talk to Blaise and Potter," Draco says, letting go of me. "We have to discuss our options."

I nod and back up a step, still wishing that there wasn't this strange gap between us. I thought that after last night and this morning, we'd be able to share more of ourselves with each other. Clearly, he doesn't feel the same.

He moves toward the kitchen, buttoning his shirt up again. When he finishes, he pulls the door open. A loud shout emanates from the kitchen.

I walk over and join him just as Blaise appears.

"What happened?" Blaise asks.

Past Blaise's shoulder, I see that Harry has turned to face the doorway. He looks angry.

"Let's talk outside," Draco says, backing up.

Blaise follows Draco into the living room, and I stand in the doorway, waiting for Harry. He glances back at Ron again before moving toward me. As he passes by me, I get a glimpse of Ron, who's been silenced. It's clear that he's protesting, but no sound is coming out of his mouth. His nose looks crooked.

I shut the door after Harry and turn around to face the boys.

"Who broke his nose?" I ask.

"I did," Blaise says.

"Good punch, by the way," Harry says.

Blaise nods to acknowledge the compliment.

"I'm actually surprised that you didn't hurt him, Hermione," Harry says. "He… he _poisoned_ you."

Blaise grins. "And we know you can throw a good punch, don't we, Draco?"

Draco chuckles at that memory.

"Shut up, Blaise," I say. "And I was more concerned with damage control than anything else, once I was back in my right mind."

"Damage control?" Harry asks, raising an eyebrow. He glances at Draco.

I take two steps over to Draco and reach over to take his hand, watching to see what Harry will say. I know that he's level-headed and that he's grown out of House prejudices in the past few years, but Draco was still a Death Eater…

But there is no angry outburst, no cynical quip, no mildly surprised comment. Instead, he and Draco lock eyes for a moment, and it seems as though they've already reached an understanding.

How? Have they talked about me before? _When?_

But before I can comment, Blaise begins to speak.

"So, what was important enough to interrupt us?" he asks.

"Hogwarts is in danger," Draco says.

Harry immediately looks concerned. "How do you know? We only left maybe twenty minutes ago, and everything was fine."

"Voldemort wants to capture me, so he said that if I don't go to him by tonight, he'll send Death Eaters to Hogwarts."

"But the Death Eater barrier—" Harry begins.

"If Voldemort comes himself, I doubt that barrier will do much to stop them," I say. "Remember what happened at the Battle of Hogwarts? It was a nightmare."

"Let him come. We could kill him tonight," Harry says impulsively.

"Harry, don't be daft. Greyback said that all the Death Eaters in England would be there," I say.

"Greyback? _He_ was here?"

"He spoke through the fireplace," Draco says.

"We need to figure something out," I say. "Do you think it would help to evacuate everyone? Would we have enough time?"

Harry shakes his head. "I don't think so. There are a lot more people now. It'd be impractical to get them all to move. Did he say what time?"

"He only said 'tonight.' I'm going to assume that he means nightfall," Draco replies.

"That gives us a good two, maybe three hours, then," Harry says.

"I don't think we'll need that much time," Blaise says.

Draco nods in response, and I frown. How do they always reach the same conclusions so quickly? Is it because they were such close friends, or were they such close friends because they thought so similarly? Maybe it's a bit of both.

"What are you planning?" I ask, looking between the two of them.

"I need some time alone. I've got some people to contact. You three can go to Hogwarts and warn them of a potential attack," Draco says.

"You should tell us what you're thinking, Malfoy," Harry says.

"I have to be sure that it'll work. Otherwise, it'd be pointless to suggest."

"Let's just go," Blaise says.

"Do you know what he wants to do, Blaise?" Harry asks.

"I only have a vague idea of what's going on up there," Blaise replies. He turns to Draco and says, "Don't do anything stupid."

"Yes, Draco, don't do anything stupid," I echo.

"I won't. Don't worry about it. Be back in about half an hour, and if you haven't come up with anything, I'll let you know what I've got in mind—if it'll work."

"Fine. Let's go, then," Harry decides.

I turn to Draco and get up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Be careful."

"_You_ should be careful," he replies. "I'm not even leaving the house."

I nod, looking back and forth between his beautiful silver eyes. He'd better not give himself up. I'll kill him myself if he does.

I hear the pop of Disapparition and see that Harry's gone.

"Bye, mate," Blaise says.

"Bye," Draco says without taking his eyes off me.

Blaise Disapparates, and we're alone again. For some reason, I feel a strange urge to cry.

"You aren't going to do anything stupid, are you?" I ask him.

He grins and throws one of my own questions back at me. "Don't you trust me?"

"I trust you."

He smiles. "Good. Now go."

I draw my wand and lift it to Disapparate, pausing so that I can look at his face for just a moment longer. Why is it so hard to imagine spending _any_ length of time away from him?

"I'm not going anywhere," he says reassuringly.

I smile—this is one of those rare moments when he looks completely sincere.

Damn, Harry and Blaise are waiting on the other side.

After one last glance at him, I Disapparate.

* * *

**Author's Note:** And the war returns.


	81. Chapter 81 D

**Author's Note:** I really, really, _really_ don't want to work on this problem set… so I'm back to editing another chapter for you guys! Going to regret this in the morning…

**Chapter 81**

"Greyback? _He_ was here?"

"He spoke through the fireplace," I reply. Fucking deranged mutt.

Then Hermione is speaking. "We need to figure something out. Do you think it would help to evacuate everyone? Would we have enough time?"

Potter shakes his head immediately. "I don't think so. There are a lot more people now. It'd be impractical to get them all to move. Did he say what time?"

"He only said 'tonight.' I'm going to assume that he means nightfall," I say.

That's not an assumption—it's a fact. I've learned that Voldemort likes the natural cycle of time much better than any artificially imposed system of time. He uses precise hours whenever it's necessary, but he prefers terms like "nightfall" or "daybreak".

"That gives us a good two, maybe three hours, then," Potter observes.

"I don't think we'll need that much time," Blaise says.

Leave it to Blaise to guess what I'm thinking. I nod in his direction. I have to admit—I'm impressed that he's still just as adept at predicting my thoughts as he was years ago.

"What are you planning?" Hermione asks.

She looks worried. I don't want her to worry…

"I need some time alone," I say. "I've got some people to contact. You three can go to Hogwarts and warn them of a potential attack."

"You should tell us what you're thinking, Malfoy."

"I have to be sure that it'll work. Otherwise, it'd be pointless to suggest," I say.

And there's a huge probability that this won't work. It relies on so many uncontrollable variables.

"Let's just go," Blaise says.

"Do you know what he wants to do, Blaise?" Potter asks.

Ah, so he's caught on to the silent interaction between Blaise and me.

"I only have a vague idea of what's going on up there," Blaise says. "Don't do anything stupid."

That's rich, coming from him.

"Yes, Draco, don't do anything stupid," Hermione says.

"I won't," I say, mostly to alleviate her concern. "Don't worry about it. Be back in about half an hour, and if you haven't come up with anything, I'll let you know what I've got in mind—if it'll work."

"Fine," Potter says. "Let's go, then."

I receive a light peck on the cheek and turn to look at Hermione, hiding my surprise.

"Be careful," she says, her large brown eyes fixed on my face.

"_You_ should be careful," I say. "I'm not even leaving the house."

She nods, continuing to look at me. Our eyes lock, and I can't tear my eyes away from hers. There's a popping sound, but I don't even want to check to see who has left. But she turns her eyes away, and I force myself to look at the ground.

Get a grip.

When I glance back up, she's looking at me, and my eyes are trapped yet again.

"Bye, mate," Blaise says.

"Bye," I reply without looking at him.

He Disapparates, leaving us alone. Merlin help me, I want to jump her.

"You aren't going to do anything stupid, are you?" she asks.

Define stupid.

I hold back my immediate response and grin at her instead. "Don't you trust me?"

"I trust you," she says seriously.

I smile at her. "Good. Now go."

She pulls out her wand, but she doesn't leave. Is she really _that_ worried that I'll do something 'stupid'?

"I'm not going anywhere," I tell her.

I need her to get out of here. The clock's ticking. I'm pretty sure that half an hour is more than enough to talk to three people, but I'd rather have more time, just in case.

She smiles at me, and for a moment, she's the only thing in my world—I can't think about anything else.

Then she Disapparates, and my chest feels painfully hollow.

Fuck.

I'm acting like a lovesick puppy. That won't do. Not at a time like this.

Shaking away the emotions, I summon my wand—no point in wasting energy. I point it at myself and perform a bit of Human Transfiguration. It's not perfect, but I'm fairly certain it's convincing enough.

Then I connect with the fireplace at Theo's.

"Theo? Are you there?" I call out.

"Greg?" Theo responds, appearing from a hallway. His eyes widen. "I thought you and Vince were captured by—"

"You thickheaded dolt, shut your mouth," I say.

His eyes widen even more as he realizes the differences between Greg's real face and my Transfiguration.

"Are you alone?" I ask.

"Yeah," he replies.

As soon as he makes eye contact with me, I dive into his mind. I have to know what happened immediately after my capture. Has Theo been taken to see Voldemort?

I watch from his perspective on the ground and see myself shatter the window. Then my field of vision changes, and I'm watching as Naree struggles against the two other house-elves. He's finally subdued by a Stunning Spell to the chest, fired by one of the nearby Death Eaters.

Then Nott Sr. appears from the crowd of Death Eaters and drags Theo up to his feet. I'm surprised that he stayed down for so long—was he _that_ conflicted about my defection?

Theo is led rapidly off the Manor grounds by his father, and I begin to notice blurs at the edges of the memory. I frown. Then he's sitting at home, speaking with his mother. The sound is slightly distorted, a telltale sign of having been tampered with.

Fuck.

I retreat from his mind, and he looks relieved.

"Have you seen the Dark Lord today?" I ask.

Theo shakes his head. "No, not that I remember."

"Funny you'd put it that way," I say.

Voldemort must have tampered with his memories. He must know that I know about Frank Longbottom's recovery. But does he know I've learned that Neville Longbottom is the spy?

"Why is that funny?" Theo asks me.

"No reason," I say, shaking my head.

"How did you escape? My dad said that the Dark Lord was furious."

"Can't tell you that. I want you to do me a favor, though. And you can't tell anyone that you saw me."

"Yeah, that bit was obvious."

"About two hours from now, Floo me again. I'm going to need your help."

"What're you gonna do?"

"You'll know when the time comes. Can I count on you?"

"Of course. I'm only a Death Eater because you are—remember?"

"Good," I say. "Two hours, then."

Theo nods. "See you soon."

I flash a brief smile at him before pulling my head out of the fireplace and extinguishing the flames.

Then I realize that I have a rare opportunity in my hands—none of Weasley's friends are with him, and he's completely at my mercy. But if I went in there myself, it'd be too tempting to just snap his neck. And I'm sure that no matter how furious Hermione is with him, she'll still be upset if I kill him.

"Naree!" I call out.

He emerges from the guest room. "Yes, Master?"

"I need you to do me a favor."

He nods. "Anything."

"Apparate to the Greengrass' home and tell me if Daphne is home."

"Is that all?"

"Yes. Return immediately."

Naree nods once and Disapparates with a crack. I count to five before he reappears.

"Miss Daphne is home," he reports cheerfully.

"Did anyone see you?" I ask him.

He shakes his head.

"Perfect. Are you feeling better?"

He nods.

"Well enough to have a little fun?"

"Fun, Master?"

"Weasley's tied up in the kitchen," I inform him.

His eyes light up. "Weasley is always speaking ill of Master. He deserves to be tied up."

I grin. "You can punish him, if you want, for me. But don't cause any lasting damage. I think Hermione would get on my case if I hexed an arm and a leg off him."

Naree nods and disappears into the kitchen, giggling.

I take a moment to stop grinning before performing another Human Transfiguration on myself and Flooing the Greengrass' home.

"Theo! How nice to see you."

Fuck, it's Astoria. I can't stand her voice.

"Yes, it's been a while," I say. "Can you get your sister?"

"Have you heard from Draco?" she asks, ignoring my request.

"No, I haven't. I wanted to talk to Daphne. Could you—"

She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. "Oh Theo, when will you give up? She doesn't _like_ you."

I only frown at her, and she walks out of the room. I'd never realized that Theo had feelings for Daphne. Bloody… when did that even start? I don't remember ever noticing anything like that between them.

Then Daphne appears. "Hello again, Theo," she says.

She's exhibiting her cold persona—I'm accustomed to seeing her without it, and it feels strange to be treated like a "normal person" by her.

"Hello, Daphne," I say with a faint smile.

She frowns at me, and then her eyes widen by a fraction. "_You_—"

"Shh. You're alone, yes?"

"What the hell are you _doing_ here?" she hisses.

"I assume you're alone, then," I say.

"Yes. My parents went to a dinner party."

"Perfect. I'm here to ask a favor of you."

She sighs. "Can I just tell you no, and will you leave if I do?"

"No, and not yet. You have to hear me out first."

"Fine, but I am _not_ putting my family in danger for you, Draco."

"It won't be for me," I say.

She rolls her eyes. "I doubt that."

"You don't think there's anyone I would give myself up for?"

Daphne narrows her eyes. "I know that you've gone to the other side—the Light side—but you can't possibly—"

"You'd do it for him, wouldn't you?"

"Don't pretend to know—"

"I'm not _pretending_, Daphne. I know."

"I'm over him. It was almost four years ago, Draco. We were children."

"You're clearly not over him. As soon as you realized I wasn't Theo, your demeanor changed completely. You and I were never close, so the only reason you have for treating me differently is that I'm his best mate."

"I don't—"

"Don't say that you don't treat me differently. Even at the dinner party a few nights ago, you spoke up for me. Now tell me, when was the last time you intervened on behalf of someone outside your family?"

She glares at me, and I know she has nothing to say to that.

"What do you need?" she finally asks.

"Blaise is going to be captured," I say. "I need you to find out where he's being held so that I can retrieve him."

She stares at me. "You've gone mad. How am _I_ supposed to—"

"You're smart. You have contacts. You've been prepared for an emergency, if one of your family members gets branded a blood traitor."

"That's for my family! I can't convince them to give me the location of a member of the Order of the Phoenix!" she protests.

"But you can. You know what you have to do. You just don't want to do it."

"Of course I don't want to do it. I've managed to keep my hands clean for so long," she says, glaring at me. "You have some nerve, Draco, asking a favor like this."

"I'll have you know that I can guarantee his freedom, as long as you help me."

"I can't—"

"Mind you, he'll most likely die if I don't get him out in time."

She's silent.

"I understand that you need some time to think it over, but—"

"I'll do it," she interrupts.

"It's not going to be easy," I warn her.

"Just tell me this: will it save him?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll do it," she says. "What exactly do you need?"

"After finding out where he is, I want you to sneak in. Use a Disillusionment Charm. When no one is around, whisper his location to him."

"If you're going to force me to go to him, why not just let me rescue him myself?"

"You're not a Death Eater. You won't be able to open his cell. After you give him is location, I'll arrive—"

"How exactly are you going to manage that?" she asks.

"You don't have to know that. When I arrive, I'll take him out of the cell. Then you'll Disapparate with him—take him to Hogwarts, all right?"

"I'm associated with the Dark side, Draco. They won't trust me."

"But they won't kill you, and they'll know that you're safe because you're bringing Blaise to them," I say. "I'll vouch for you, if I return."

Daphne laughs coldly. "_If_, you say. What if you don't return? Should I just wait there and let them decide whether or not they should kill me?"

"Blaise will speak for you, then, if I don't make it out of this."

"Comforting. Why can't you just come with us?"

Because I have a feeling I won't be able to. I've had quite a streak of good luck in the past weeks, but I think my luck has just about run out.

"I'll have something else to finish up."

"Don't get yourself killed, Draco," she says warily.

"I'll try my best not to."

"So, how will I know when Blaise has been captured?" she asks.

I frown. That's going to be a bit difficult to estimate.

"And how do you know he'll be captured? Is it already unavoidable?"

"It's a long story—you don't have to know all the details," I say. "I'll send Naree over when it's time for you to start looking."

"And how do you expect me to contact you when I know his location?"

"Don't. You're to stay hidden outside his cell—remember?"

She frowns. "I don't understand how you're going to—"

"It's irrelevant to you. All you need to do is make sure you have the right location and that you tell it to him. I'll take care of everything from that point on. And no matter what happens to him, do not reveal yourself. Not unless they're about to kill him."

"Why can't I reveal myself?" she asks.

"Because then they might move him. And if that happens, then my rescue plan is screwed."

"All right," she says, taking a deep breath. "I don't know what you're planning, Draco, but I really hope it goes well. If this ends badly, I won't forgive you."

"If it ends badly, I won't need your forgiveness anymore," I reply.

"Good point. Well… good luck, then."

"Thanks. You, too."

I back out of the flames for the second time and put them out. Two down, one to go.

This just might work…


	82. Chapter 82 D

**Author's Note:** Why hello there! I've had a hectic week, and it sounded extremely relaxing to come home and just edit another chapter instead of study, or work on problem sets… so that's what I did! And here we are now.

**Chapter 82**

The Imperius Curse really is powerful. I hadn't come into contact with Rowle for such a long time, yet he was still completely under my control. But then again, he's not known for his willpower.

He still never fails to surprise me with his ineptness, though. A Death Eater of his status would surely have much better mastery of magic and spells. I'm sure even Ron Weasley would be able to create a Portkey with no problem.

As the embers in the fireplace slowly die out, three consecutive pops warn me of their return.

"Any luck?" Blaise asks me.

I nod. "I have to speak to you, alone."

"I had a feeling you'd ask for that."

"He wouldn't say anything to us about it," Hermione says, throwing Blaise a reproachful look.

"Because he's my mate before yours," I say, grinning. "What I've got in mind will most likely work, but I have to talk it through with Blaise first before sharing it with you two."

"Why?" Potter asks. "What do you have to say that we can't hear?"

"It would really speed up the process if you didn't question me every step of the way."

"I don't like all this secrecy. You always operate as though you can't trust any of us."

"Because I _can't_ trust you," I say without thinking.

He frowns at my words but doesn't reply. Then I notice the disappointed look on Hermione's face, and my chest twists painfully. Fuck, I usually don't speak so quickly.

"It's okay," she says, stepping toward me.

Did she just read my mind? I _know_ she can't get in.

"I'll teach you to trust me," she continues.

I fight the urge to grimace. Trust her. I want to, but I don't feel like I can. I haven't truly trusted anyone since Blaise turned his back on me. If my best mate couldn't keep his promise to me, how could anyone else?

She reaches up and puts a hand on my cheek. Potter coughs once, and she pulls her hand back slowly, still looking at my face.

"Good luck with that," Blaise quips. "I've known him my whole life, and he still hardly trusts me."

"That's because you're a snake like me, and I _know_ that we can't be trusted," I retort.

He only grins in response.

Potter heads for the kitchen. "Come on, Hermione. Let's go pay a visit to Ron together," he says.

"Fine," she says, turning away from me to follow Potter. As she reaches the kitchen door, she turns to look at me and smiles. And then she's gone.

"Bedroom, then?" Blaise says.

I turn to see that he's already standing in the doorway, waiting for me. I walk past him into my room, and he pulls the door shut.

"So, you've finally done it, have you?" he says.

"Done what?" I reply, feigning ignorance.

"Let's not draw this out. You know what I'm talking about."

"All right then. Yes, I've done it."

"Why do you still have to hurt her like that, then? Don't _tell_ her that you don't trust her, even if it's true. Why would you do that?"

"I wasn't thinking," I admit. "But we have more important things to talk about."

"Right, like me giving myself up as you," Blaise says.

"I suppose that much was obvious."

He nods. "It's the only way. Of the two of us, you were the one Hermione chose. And we both know we can't leave her alone."

I frown. "You're not going to die, Blaise. Rescuing you is the most important part of my plan."

"Now _that_ I didn't expect."

"You're still my best mate. I can't just let you die for me."

"But if you try to rescue me, then you'll die too."

"I—"

"How the hell do you plan to find me? And once you find me, you'll have to get past sentries and any extra Death Eaters who could be keeping an eye on me. And Voldemort himself might even be there, seeing as I would have been pretending to be _you_."

"I have it all figured out. Trust me."

He shakes his head. "No. There's no way," he says skeptically.

"What if I said that I went for help? That's what I did the past half hour. I spoke to some people, and they can make it work."

Blaise frowns. "So… Theo, then? You're risking his life as well?"

"Blaise, all of our lives are on the line anyway. But no, Theo won't be involved in the rescue. I have other plans for him."

"Sometimes I feel like I've got you all figured out, but when it really comes down to it, I don't understand what the hell goes on in that head of yours," Blaise says, shaking his head. "I want to hear the whole plan. Don't just tell me my part. I know you're perfectly capable of handling the whole picture on your own, but I just want to see what you've figured out."

Should I tell him _everything?_ No. Not everything.

He sighs. "Just tell me."

"I think I know the location of another Horcrux, so while you're giving yourself up and Voldemort is distracted, Theo and I are going to get that Horcrux. Then we're gonna go to the prison and free Frank Longbottom. If we have him on our side, we can be sure that Neville Longbottom won't betray us again. I suppose we could look for Jordan and Spinnet while we're at it, but I doubt we'll have time for that."

"That sounds… reasonable."

I grin. "When have I ever been unreasonable?"

"Well, you haven't told me the rest of your plan yet. How are you going to get me out? Who could possibly help you?"

"Daphne."

Blaise immediately stiffens at the mention of her name. "Why the fuck would you get _Daphne_ involved in this?" he demands.

"She's still in love with you. I figured we could use someone like that."

"That is _wrong_."

"It's not as though you ever truly cared for her," I prod.

"Don't go there."

"I already did. What're you going to do about it?"

"I don't want her to be in on this."

"Too late. She already is."

"She could _die_."

"True. But I have a bit of news for you, mate. We could _all_ die."

"But we all chose to participate in this fight. Daphne—"

"Do you think I coerced her into this? Once she heard that it was _you_ who would be in trouble, she said that she'd do it."

Blaise falls silent, and I decide to give him some time to mull it over. This part of the conversation definitely isn't over yet.

"You had no right," he finally says.

I smirk. "So you _do_ care for her, then."

"I feel guilty, all right? There. You happy now?" he says, glaring at me. "I don't like this idea because I was a dick to her in school, and I don't want her to put her life on the line just because I might be in danger."

"_Might_ be in danger? You _will_ be in danger," I say. "That is a fact."

"That's beside the point. I don't want her to risk her life for me."

"But she wanted to do it. I gave her a choice."

"You _knew_ she would do it, Draco. Just because—"

"That doesn't mean I didn't give her a choice," I interrupt him. "I listed her options, and she chose the one that would save you."

He falls silent again and starts pacing back and forth, fuming.

I grin. "It's interesting to see you with a conscience. Do you feel guilty toward _all_ the girls you mistreated in school?"

"Shut up, Draco."

"Still a bit touchy, are we?"

"What exactly is she going to be doing?" he asks.

"Not much. She'll give you your location, and I'll get you out of there."

"How would you—_oh_. I see."

"Do you?"

"Communimency."

"Precisely."

"But you'll have work to be doing. You can't come over into my head," he says. "It'll render you useless."

"I won't be the one using the spell."

"Who else—" he begins, but he pauses for a moment. Then he says, "You don't honestly think she'll go for that, do you?"

I'll admit that it's a stretch.

"If we say that it'll save your life, or that it'll extend the amount of time we have, it won't be difficult to persuade her," I reason.

"All right, fine. Say that you _can_ find me. That doesn't mean you'll be able to rescue me. If Voldemort discovers that I'm pretending to be you, he'll probably expect you to come for me."

"I'll have Theo drop the bomb that the Horcrux is missing. I'm sure Voldemort will be distracted enough by that to let us slip by," I reply.

"And what exactly is the Horcrux, this time?"

"An earring."

Blaise frowns. "How could you possibly know that he would choose an earring?"

"It followed the same pattern as the last Horcrux," I explain. Telling him the truth will speed up the process. "He demanded that I retrieve the object for him, and then he gave Macnair the task of hiding it."

_Retrieve the object_. I just referred to Seamus Finnigan's head as an _object_. My mind is getting more and more fucked up.

"All right, then," Blaise says, accepting my theory. "So let's sum this up. I'll give myself up. You and Theo will fetch the Horcrux and rescue whoever you can. Daphne… how will she know when I've been captured?"

"You don't have to know that," I say tiredly. "It doesn't matter. I have it taken care of."

"Fine. She'll tell me where I am. You'll come to free me. And that's it? Do you honestly think we can circumvent this so easily? Voldemort could just as easily return to Hogwarts as soon as he discovers that we're missing."

"Well, we'll have destroyed another one of his Horcruxes. And I'm sure that even _he_ can't split his soul over ten times," I say. "So we should be able to kill him for good."

Blaise laughs humorlessly. "If we could kill him at all, that is."

"True. I'm pretty sure the prophecy said that Potter would have to be the one to kill him. I don't know how the hell he's going to manage that."

"It doesn't matter, for now. We'll take these things one at a time," Blaise says. "Let's share our thoughts with those two, shall we?"

I nod. "After you."

He takes two strides over to the door, pulls it open, and exits the room. I follow after a moment's pause, calculating. Blaise is right—Voldemort could return to Hogwarts, and this time, he won't give us a warning. He won't let us bargain for their lives. It'll be a massacre. We have to avoid that.

One thing at a time, Blaise said. It might help some people to think that way, but not me. I've already got a few possibilities in mind for our next steps…

* * *

**Author's Note:** I have to admit that it's getting harder to write Draco's perspective, because I don't want to give everything away just yet, but the people involved and the pieces of the puzzle are all in his head, which is what we have access to. But I did have a bit of fun writing Blaise and Draco's conversation here (:

By the way, this chapter marks 40 chapters each for Draco and Hermione! The extra 2 chapters were from Frank's memories, and that's why the grand total (so far) is 82.


	83. Chapter 83 H

**Author's Note:** I got lots of stuff done this weekend. I finished two problem sets in one day (in other words, I did absolutely nothing else that day…) and got in quite a bit of studying for the midterm this Wednesday. To reward myself for all this productivity, I'm editing a chapter of my beloved _Turncoat_! Yay (:

By the way, anyone bought the latest Coldplay album, Mylo Xyloto? If not… GO BUY IT NOW. Haha, just kidding. But I definitely recommend it. It's amazing!

**Chapter 83**

I shut the kitchen door behind me and heave a sigh.

Why doesn't he trust me? It's become perfectly clear over the past few weeks that he won't hesitate to save my life or to do… almost anything, for me. But why won't he trust me? Why won't he share himself with me? Were his experiences really _that_ bad?

Then I hear Ron's agitated voice and realize that Harry's removed the Silencing Charm.

"Will you _stop_ it?" he shouts.

I look over and see that Naree's standing near Ron, gently poking his leg over and over. Trapped and held in place, Ron can't even move away.

"Naree, what are you doing?" I ask.

"Master said that Naree could punish Weasley, but that he could not cause permanent damage. Naree finds annoying Weasley to be very satisfying."

Harry laughs at this, and Ron looks over at us.

"Why are you here?" he demands.

"I thought the three of us could talk," Harry says.

"Should Naree go, then?" the house-elf asks.

"Yes, just for now," I tell him. "You can come back in later."

Ron has the audacity to glare at me.

"What, do you think that punishment is too light?" I ask.

Harry points his wand at Ron's nose and says, "Episkey."

Ron's nose straightens out, and he smiles. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me. I only fixed it so I could have the pleasure of breaking it myself," Harry says.

Then, before Ron can respond, Harry's fist flies at him. There's a loud crunch.

"Fuck! Bloody hell, Harry!"

I wave my wand once to clean up the blood.

"That's what I think of your actions, Ron," Harry says. "I—"

"What about _her_ actions?" Ron says, cutting him off.

"What exactly do you think I've done, Ron?" I ask.

"There's nothing she could have done that would be worse than what you did, short of killing you," Harry says.

"She slept with Malfoy!"

"And why is that so terrible, hmm? At least it was consensual!" I reply. "I genuinely like—"

"You fucked a Death Eater, Hermione! Harry, you can't—you can't stand for this."

"At this point, I'd approve of Hermione choosing Malfoy over you. At least he hasn't tried to poison her. What the hell were you thinking? Were you even thinking at all?"

"And don't say that you just wanted to show me how _good_ it could be. That just makes me want to hit you," I add.

He looks between the two of us for a moment before focusing his attention on Harry.

"You would let her choose Malfoy over me, your best mate?" he says.

"Do you realize how bad your actions were? I feel ashamed to call you my best mate. If I hadn't seen all the effects first hand, I would never have believed it to be true."

"I just—"

"Doing that to _anyone_ is just wrong. But the fact that you would use it on Hermione… our Hermione…"

"Thanks, Harry," I say.

"I don't believe it. You two are supporting a _Death Eater_ over _me_."

"Shut up, Ron. Even as a Death Eater, he's done more to help us in recent weeks than you have. Honestly, who do you think you are?"

"No matter what he's done to redeem himself, he was still a Death Eater. I bet he's killed tons of Muggles and Muggle-borns."

"But he's trying to fix what he did in the past. You…" Harry's voice fades.

"You tried to control me," I jump in. "And you hurt other people in the process."

"How did I hurt other people?"

"You told me to be suspicious of Harry and Blaise, so I lashed out at them, even though they were just worried about me," I say.

"_He_ told you think that?" Harry says, eyes wide. He turns to Ron. "Some best mate you are."

"I didn't mean—"

"You just wanted to save your own arse, didn't you? Hell, Blaise hinted at that, but I didn't believe him. I had more faith in you. But I guess I was wrong."

"Zabini never liked me. It's no surprise that he would think—"

"But he was right. I was wrong. Turns out he figured out your character even before I did."

Ron actually looks hurt by these words. "When will you let me down from here?"

Harry looks over at me. "It's your choice, Hermione."

"Let him hang, then. I don't think he feels remorse for his actions yet."

Ron glares at me. "Well, what about _your_ actions?"

"Don't bring Draco into this."

"Oh, so now that he's fucked you, he's _Draco_."

"I started to like him before you poisoned me, and you know it."

"I don't understand. How could you like _him_, Hermione?"

"He's intelligent, quick, and caring—when he wants to be—and I've never had a dull conversation with him. Oh, and he's saved my life multiple times. _And_ he's never tired to poison me. That's always a plus."

"Ron, don't you feel even a shred of remorse?" Harry asks.

Ron looks at the ground.

"You must know that what you did was wrong," Harry says.

"I'm sorry, okay? Sorry that I'm not bloody _perfect_—"

"You don't have to be perfect to figure out that poisoning one of your close friends is wrong. I'm sure anyone could figure that out," Harry cuts him off.

Ron's silent.

"I really value your friendship, and I don't want to lose someone so close to me," Harry says to him. "But if you and Hermione can't reconcile after this, I'm standing on her side, a hundred percent. You really screwed up this time, mate."

"Let's go, Harry," I say. "Maybe Blaise and Draco are done talking."

Harry nods, and we exit the kitchen in silence. Ron doesn't speak up to ask us to stay. But Blaise and Draco aren't in the living room yet, and I sit down on the couch.

Naree appears with a wide smile. "Hello, Miss Granger and Mr. Potter."

"You can go back in now, if you want," Harry offers.

"Naree would be delighted to!"

The house-elf disappears into the kitchen and shuts the door.

"Hermione, are you sure you know what you're doing with Malfoy?" Harry asks me. "And did you really—"

"Yes, I really slept with him. Are you going to call me a slag, now?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, of course not. If I'd been thinking that, I would have said so, in front of Ron."

"Thank you, then."

"Just be careful, all right? I know that Malfoy seems to have made some changes, and I'm learning to trust him, too, but I feel like there's too much about him that we don't know."

"I know that he has a really dark past—he's been a full-on Death Eater, for the past few years. I'm prepared to hear about all the awful things that he's done. I've accepted it. I… I just…"

"Just what?" Harry asks gently.

"I think he still doesn't trust me enough to tell me anything, and whenever I think about that, it hurts."

"But Malfoy was never the type to open up," Harry says. "For one, he's a Slytherin. But he's also naturally closed off, isn't he?"

"Yes, but—"

"Give him some time to open up to you. Don't you remember what Blaise said? He's known Draco for his whole life, but he still can only sort of guess at Draco's thoughts. You haven't been close to him for anywhere near as long as Blaise has, so it makes sense that he wouldn't be as comfortable with opening up to you, yet."

I smile.

"What?" Harry asks.

"Harry, you are an amazing friend," I say.

"You _just_ noticed?" he replies, smiling.

"I thought you might go on for at least a little while about how he was our rival all through school, and how he was a Death Eater for such a long time, and—"

"I'd sound so much like Ron, wouldn't I?"

"Really, Harry. Thank you."

He smiles. "As long as you're happy. I saw the way you looked at him. You really do look happy with him."

"I am." Then I remember Harry's initial reaction and decide to ask about it. "Did you know about Draco's feelings?"

"Yeah."

I frown. "When did you figure it out? And how?"

"When you were captured by the Death Eaters, he looked extremely serious about it. And I guess I just paid more attention after that."

"Wow… that was a while ago," I say.

He nods. "When did you start to like him?"

"I… I'm not sure. It just sort of sneaked up on me. I didn't even realize it was happening."

"Did he forgive you, then?"

"Forgive me?"

"For Ron," Harry clarifies. "I assume that that threw a bit of a wedge between you two."

"He says that he understands, but I don't think he feels safe with me anymore," I admit.

"That's a sad thought."

"I know."

Then the bedroom door opens, and Blaise and Draco walk into the living room. I get to my feet.

"Hey," Harry says, turning to face them.

"Well, we've got a plan. But I don't know how much you're gonna like it, Hermione," Blaise says.

I frown.

Blaise turns to Draco and asks, "Do you want to explain, or should I?"

"Go ahead," Draco replies.

Blaise takes a deep breath and begins to speak.

* * *

"What if Voldemort doesn't send the Death Eaters away?" Harry interrupts Blaise.

"You two should tell him from the beginning that Draco will only show up if Voldemort withdraws his forces from Hogwarts and waits alone at the boundary," Blaise says.

I shake my head. "He's not that stupid—he won't believe that."

"You say it like you know him so well," Draco comments.

"Well, I—"

"Are _you_ the one who's worked with him for years, or am I?"

"I don't like this idea," I say, shaking my head again.

How can they talk about it so nonchalantly? I definitely don't want Draco to surrender himself, but that doesn't mean I'll be okay with losing Blaise. He's one of my closest friends.

"It's not your choice," Draco reminds me again.

He's already told me that Blaise volunteered for this.

"Blaise, are you sure about this?" Harry asks. "Voldemort's going to know you're not Malfoy as soon as he gets inside your head."

"Then I'd better not let him, right?"

"Blaise, your Occlumency isn't that powerful," I point out. "Don't do this."

"Would you rather send the real Draco out there?" Blaise replies. "Voldemort is going to kill him as painfully as possible. If he finds out that it's only me, he'll either get pissed off and kill me quickly, or he'll keep me around with the hope that Draco will come to rescue me."

"He'll discover the truth too quickly, won't he?" I ask, trying from a different angle. I really, _really_ don't want them to go through with this. "Draco and Nott won't have enough time to get to Neville's dad, or to get the Horcrux."

"There is a way to extend the time we have," Blaise says.

It takes me a second to get what he's implying.

"No," I say, remembering our conversation from the other day—or was it yesterday? Merlin, has it really only been one day? "No, you aren't seriously considering Communimency, are you? Draco's going to be so distracted. How could he possibly—"

"Not me, Hermione," Draco interrupts. "You."

I blink, surprised. "You… you can't be serious." I turn to Blaise. "You _know_ that I think it's Dark magic. You can't possibly expect—"

"You could be extending my life, Hermione. Would you rather have me die faster?" Blaise says.

"That isn't a fair question."

"You have to intend to do something evil in order for it to be Dark magic, Hermione," Harry says. "If it's going to save Blaise's life, how can it be called Dark?"

I don't reply.

"Come on, Hermione. I'm relying on you to keep my mate safe," Draco says. "I don't want him to die for me."

"Aw, isn't that touching?" Blaise says.

Draco grins. "Don't flatter yourself. I just don't want to owe you any favors."

"I still don't like this idea," I say.

"It's not as though I'll be enjoying it," Blaise says. "I don't particularly like revealing my thoughts."

"Hermione, this is the best way," Harry says.

Why does he support this idea so much?

"Why don't you just face him and kill him, Harry?" I say, frustrated. "It's supposed to be you, anyway. Draco and Blaise don't have to take this risk."

"You say it like he's so easy to kill," Draco says. "Even Dumbledore with the Elder Wand on his side couldn't defeat Voldemort. Harry's our age. What makes you so sure he could pull this off?"

I realize that Draco and Harry are watching each other, but I can't understand the meaning of that silent exchange. Draco can't have planned anything with Harry, can he? Harry's been with me the whole time.

"So you said something about rescuing Blaise afterwards," Harry says, changing the topic. "How are you going to do that?"

"I was a Death Eater for a long time, and there are some people who owe me. I think I can pull some strings," Draco replies.

I frown. "I doubt that. The Death Eaters should technically be loyal to Voldemort first and foremost. I'm pretty sure they'd put him above anything they'd owe to you, Draco."

"You don't know that. I'm the one who's been working in their ranks for years. Trust me."

My chest throbs painfully at his words. What right do you have to ask for my trust, Draco? _You_ don't trust _me_.

But I meet his eyes and say truthfully, "I _do_ trust you. But—"

"Then that's enough. I'll be able to save Blaise," Draco interrupts.

"I don't like not knowing how this is going to work," Harry says. "If something goes wrong and we don't know it, we won't be able to help."

"I won't need your help," Draco replies.

He seems so sure of himself. But is that an act in order to get us to believe that he can pull this off?

"You two should probably head back to the castle soon," Blaise says. "If Voldemort refuses to call his Death Eaters away, there might still be a bit of a battle coming up. I'll stay here with Draco."

"So you're really not going to give us any details?" I ask Draco.

"Think about it this way. None of you are as strong in Occlumency as I am. If any one of you gets captured, and you know every detail of the plan, then we're screwed. It's just safer if you don't know," Draco says.

I have to admit that I hadn't really thought of that.

"Anyway," Draco continues, "Hermione, you should put the spell on Blaise now. Then get going."

"Do you two want a minute to say goodbye?" Harry asks.

Draco looks at me. "Bye."

"Really, that's it?" I reply.

I reach him in two quick steps, lean up, and kiss him. Surprised, he backs up a step, but I step forward with him. Then he seems to forget everything, giving himself over entirely to our kiss.

It's a terrible thing to think, but I know now that given the choice, I would have to sacrifice Blaise over Draco. I can't give up this feeling. I've never felt so complete. In the past, I couldn't ever get into romantic novels—they were too contrived and sappy for my taste—but I think I now fully understand what they mean when they say two people are "two halves of a whole."

Then Blaise clears his throat, bringing us back to reality, and I pull back a tiny bit.

"Be careful, Draco," I murmur, opening my eyes to look at him. "I don't like martyrs, so don't turn yourself into one."

"Since when did you stop liking martyrs?"

"Since I realized that you could become one."

He only grins in response.

"_Please_ be careful. If not for me, then for yourself."

"I'm always careful."

"Liar."

I give him another quick peck on the lips before finally pulling myself away from him and turning to face Blaise.

"All right, let's try this," I say reluctantly.

He nods. "I'm ready."

I point my wand at him and take a moment to concentrate.

"Communimens."

* * *

**Author's Note:** A while back, I got some ideas for a Scorpius/Rose story and put a few snippets down in a document, and a few days ago I opened the story up and started stringing pieces together. I've put a chapter up; it's called _Meant to Be_, if you haven't seen it already. No war in this one, so I don't know if I'll be able to pull it off, but I'm going to give it a shot. I'd appreciate it if you guys popped over to take a look, if you have time. It probably won't be updated as often as _Turncoat_, though.


	84. Chapter 84 H

**Author's Note:** I'm a little bit sad. I feel like now that the sexual tension between them has been released, you guys just aren't as interested in the story anymore. Then again, this could just be my foul mood talking, because it's about 3:30am, and I'm taking a break from work to edit. Blegh.

**Chapter 84**

There's a strange sensation, as though a tunnel has just opened up in my mind. I close my eyes and focus on this new tunnel, and it sucks me in. Everything is black for about three seconds.

When I open my eyes, I see that I'm standing in a different position than I was before. My mouth opens, and a male voice comes out.

"Whoa."

I see… _myself_… standing across from me, eyes closed.

Then Blaise's voice echoes in my—or is it his?—head.

_Do you hear my thoughts? Bloody hell, this feels weird._

Oh, it does feel weird. _Yes, I hear you_, I reply.

_Wonder what'll happen if you try to control me_, he thinks.

_I'm not going to try that_.

"Blaise? Hermione? Are you two all right?" Harry asks.

I try to speak, but I hear my intended words in Blaise's voice.

"We're fine."

_Looks like you just did it, Hermione_.

Why does he sound so smug, even in his thoughts?

_Is it really that easy?_ I ask.

_You sound afraid._

_Because I'm worried!_

I'm terrified of the initial rush that I got when I realized that I could control him.

"Hermione, you'll have to get out of his head if you want to control your own body," Draco says.

_I… don't know how to get out_, I tell Blaise. It's true—I don't know where the tunnel is anymore.

"She thinks she's stuck," Blaise says aloud.

Harry looks worried, but Draco just laughs. I guess that means this can't be too serious.

_Shut up, Blaise. Help me out of here._

_How am I supposed to help you out of my own head? You're the one who created the tunnel, not me._

"Focus, Hermione," Draco says, facing me—Blaise. "The tunnel is right where you left it."

_I don't know where I left it_, I admit to Blaise.

Blaise chuckles aloud, and Harry asks, "Is that you laughing, or is it Hermione?"

"It's me," Blaise replies.

Temporarily giving up on finding the way out, I start flipping through his memories. I feel Blaise instinctively putting up his walls in an attempt to hide from me, but it's clear that the boundaries include me with the rest of his thoughts.

_Fuck, it's like she's part of my mind_, I hear him think.

_I _told_ you that this was a bad idea_, I project.

I flip through various memories of the past few years, surprised at the increasing amount of time he spent staring at me when I wasn't looking.

_Do you _mind? Blaise asks. He sounds angry.

_I said we shouldn't do this, and you insisted that it'd be fine_, I tell him. _Now that I'm stuck here, I might as well find out all the secrets you've been keeping from me._

"If she needs a little help, Blaise, give her a push," Draco suggests.

"I can't force her out without severing the connection," Blaise replies.

I pause. _You _want_ to keep this connection?_ I ask him.

_It's going to keep me safe a short while longer. I'll take it._

Then I come across the scene that played out between us in Draco's kitchen, and I can feel his uneasiness setting in from all sides.

_Fuck, Hermione. Don't. You're not going to like this_, he thinks frantically.

But the scene is already playing back, and I'm not going to stop it.

* * *

She's thinking about it. Damn. I was too serious. I shouldn't have lost control like that. It just… I couldn't stand how easily she dismissed it as a joke. But that's my own fault. I've built our relationship based on these jokes, because I never thought I could feel so serious about her.

Damn it.

I glance over at her. Yeah, she's still thinking about it.

Maybe I should try to fix this. Maybe I should… get everything back to normal. Fucking _normal_. I hate normal.

I chuckle, and she looks over at me, surprised.

"Go on, don't let me interrupt you," I tell her.

She's confused. "What do you mean?"

"You were clearly deep in thought," I say, grinning. "I didn't mean to interrupt you."

She rolls her eyes. "Shut up, Blaise."

I pass her the roots that I just finished crushing, and then I hop up onto the counter. "Honestly, Hermione. What's on your mind? I'm very curious."

Yeah right, I'm curious. I know _exactly_ what's on her mind. She's worried that what she saw was real. That I might have real feelings for her.

She points her wand at the cauldron, and a fire blazes to life beneath it.

"Nothing," she lies.

I shake my head, still watching her. I've never had trouble reading her—I understood her from the beginning. I don't know what it was about her that drew me in. I couldn't stop watching her, learning her.

"Blaise, I'm being honest with you," she continues to lie. "There's nothing on my mind. Why are you so curious?"

"Mm, no reason," I reply with a shrug. "Don't screw up the potion again. I won't take the blame this time."

"No one told you to take the blame last time," she shoots back.

"Yeah, but it sort of _was_ my fault, for distracting you."

"Then stop distracting me," she says.

"Can't do that."

"Why not?"

"I think I'd die of boredom."

"Such a drama queen, you are," she quips.

I slide off the counter. "Yes, I know," I say.

I shift around to stand behind her and lean forward to look over her shoulder at the potion. Fuck, I shouldn't be doing this. I should back away. I'm stepping too close to that boundary.

"Can't you just watch from the side?" she asks.

She's clearly not comfortable. And for some reason, I can't resist prodding a little more at her.

"Sorry, love," I say, grinning. "Can't do that either."

"Don't call me that, Blaise."

She really _is_ worried.

"What, love? Don't call you what?" I ask, adopting an innocent tone.

She jabs me in ribs before continuing to stir the potion.

I shouldn't do this, but I just want so badly for her to _know_…

I gently rest my hands on her hips, and she stiffens slightly. I slowly slide them around to her front and take another small step forward, holding her to me.

"Blaise… what are you doing?"

"Shh…"

Her voice sounds strong, but I know she's concerned and afraid. She knows that I would never hurt her, but she's worried about my feelings. Sometimes I wish she wasn't so noble. Then it'd be easier to be selfish with her.

She starts stepping back in an attempt to make me back away from her, and I bite back the impulse to spin her around and kiss her.

"Hey, hey, hey—don't stop stirring," I say. "We don't want to ruin another batch, do we?"

"Blaise, let go of me," she says.

Fuck it. I'm not going to keep up this stupid charade.

"I really like you, Hermione," I say, lowering my voice to a whisper.

She stiffens again, but her arm continues to stir mechanically.

"Did you know that?" I ask. "You're different from any other girl I've known. I really, really like you."

"Did you tell this to all the girls you slept with, to get them into bed?" she responds.

Ouch.

"Were they all special? Were they all beautiful and unique snowflakes?" she finishes.

"That hurts, Hermione," I say. That… that _can't_ be her real opinion of me.

"Sorry."

I can tell she means it, so I accept. I inhale the scent of her hair and shut my eyes to enjoy it. Then I let my head drop down to her neck, planting a kiss above her rapidly pulsing carotid artery.

"Blaise, get off me," she says.

Shouldn't have done that. Fuck.

I take a step back, away from her.

It's cold.

"I'm not joking this time, Hermione," I say in a soft voice. "I know you already know how Draco feels about you, and it's about time I came clean, too."

She continues working on the potion, not responding, and for the first time in these three years, I honestly don't know what's on her mind.

"I just… thought you should know," I say.

Unable to continue looking at her, knowing that she doesn't reciprocate these feelings, I turn away and head for the exit.

"You don't have to give me an answer. As long as you know that I'm here for you, it's enough."

I'm so sorry, Hermione. I shouldn't have done it. But I'm selfish. I love you, and I wish I could say it out loud. But I've already said too much. I know it.

* * *

Oh, god. Blaise…

_It's not like that anymore_, he thinks.

But there's instantly an echo in the back of his mind that says, _Yeah right, it's not._

_Try not to lie to me, Blaise_, I project. _I hear the truth anyway._

Harry is waving a hand in front of my—Blaise's—face, but I ignore him.

"Give them some more time," Draco tells him. "It takes a while to get used to."

_Fine, then_, Blaise replies to me. _Complete honesty. You won't have to hear any truths echoing back at you. But you can't let this sway your decisions. I love you._

_Blaise, stop._

_No. No more lies, no more half-truths. I will not try to break up the relationship between you and Draco. I won't deny that I want to. But he's my best mate. And I know you well enough to realize that you really do have feelings for him, that you'll be happy with him. And that's enough for me._

I don't know what to say—think. The only thing that comes to mind is an apology. _I'm sorry, Blaise._

_We can't let this get in the way_, he thinks. _It's going to be life or death out there. I have to know that you'll be able to help me._

_Of course I will._

_You can't be distracted._

_It's hard _not_ to be distracted. You just said—_

_I love you. I know._

I hold back the impulse to sigh, realizing that if I do, it'll be Blaise who sighs. This is such a strange type of magic.

_I'll be able to do it_, I think. _You can trust me._

_Good._

"Hermione, are you still stuck?" Draco asks.

He taps Blaise's cheek, and Blaise smacks his hand out of the way.

"Hey."

Draco grins. "What, Blaise? Won't even let me touch your cheek?"

"Better look out, Hermione," Blaise says aloud. "I might just steal Draco and keep him to myself."

I laugh, forcing Blaise to laugh. But as soon as I realize what's happening, I stop abruptly. I really don't like how easy it is to accidentally control his actions.

"They're clearly not used to it yet. At least, Hermione isn't," Draco says.

Well, that means I can improve. It's a comforting thought. But how long would I have to be in here in order to perfect a skill like this? Maybe I'd rather not…

"Blaise, Hermione, I hate to rush you, but—" Harry begins.

"I'm _trying_, Harry," I snap in Blaise's voice.

Harry glances at Draco. "That sounded like Hermione."

Draco only grins in response. Apparently this is amusing to him. Ugh, what an arse.

I close my—Blaise's—eyes, trying to focus.

"Relax," Draco advises. "It'll be easier to find the opening."

I take a few slow, deep breaths, calming myself down. The tunnel slowly becomes apparent to me. Wow… that was so easy. It's a wonder I couldn't figure it out before.

Why didn't Draco give me that hint at the beginning?

_Blaise, before I leave, I need to ask a favor from you_, I project.

_Anything._

I mentally wince at the readiness of his response. I still can't wrap my mind around his confession of love. _Love_. To hear that word from a Slytherin as emotionally guarded as Blaise…

_I need you to talk to Draco for me. He went to Russia… and I think something bad happened to him there. He won't tell me what it is. Could you—_

His thoughts cut me off. _There's a large chance that he won't tell me either. Between the two of us, there's a lot of guesswork involved. I'll keep it in mind, though. Thanks for letting me know about Russia._

I don't really respond to that thought, and when I concentrate on the tunnel, I find myself getting pulled back into my own body.

Then I open my eyes and see Blaise standing across from me.

"Welcome back," Draco says.

"How was it?" Harry asks. "Will it work?"

I nod. "We can try. But Blaise… this is really dangerous."

"We're in a war with the Darkest wizard of all time. Everything is really dangerous," he says.

Good point.

"We should go, then," Harry says. "Malfoy, you'll tell Blaise when to come, right?"

Draco looks over at me. "Just give me the signal."

I nod and place a hand over my chest, above the locket.

"Bye, Draco."

He takes a step toward me and leans down to kiss me.

"Bye, Hermione," he murmurs against my lips.

Oh, I never want to leave.

Then I hear the pop of Harry's Disapparition, and I draw my wand with a sigh, backing away from Draco. I meet Blaise's eyes and catch a tiny bit of pain before he hides it away with a grin.

"See you on the other side," he says.

I nod and get another look at Draco before Disapparating.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Oh yeah, so I was going to mention this here. You don't have to read this author's note; it's completely irrelevant to fan fictions and Dramione. I probably just lost half my readers right there :P

Anyway, I started an account at over the summer and started posting some of my old stories on there (and when I say old, I mean they were written in high school… eek!). But I'm starting a new story now, and it'll hopefully be much better, haha ;)

I decided that I wouldn't try to get more readers by asking the readers of my fan fictions, but the lack of traffic is really discouraging, so I've been reduced to asking for readers. You guys have absolutely no obligation to go to the site, and I won't let the lack of readers on fictionpress affect my postings of _Turncoat_. I just wanted to let you guys know that I'm trying my hand again at original stories. Check it out, if you're interested! I'd really appreciate it.

This is the link to my profile (delete the spaces around the colon): fictionpress . com/u/787859/elizaye

I personally like my third completed story, _To Die For_, better than the other two, but I only just started posting it. _The Master Plan_ is sort of bad, and I've stopped posting it for the time being. I think I'll put the whole thing up eventually, but ehhh…


	85. Chapter 85 D

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reviewing the last chapter. I was being rather moody (not the first time it's happened in this story…), the result of staying up to do homework instead of going to bed like my lucky roommates. But I did end up getting a good six hours of sleep, and I feel pretty good right now. So I'm going to thank you guys for putting up with me and my insecure, moody self by putting up another chapter.

"When she was just a girl, she expected the world. But it flew away from her reach, so she ran away in her sleep, and dreamed of para, para, paradise. Para, para, paradise. Para, para, paradise, every time she closed her eyes…"

(:

**Chapter 85**

Finally, she opens her eyes again, and I smile.

"Welcome back."

"How was it?" Potter immediately asks her. "Will it work?"

"We can try," she says, nodding. "But Blaise… this is really dangerous."

"We're in a war with the Darkest wizard of all time. Everything is really dangerous," he points out.

"We should go, then," Potter says. Then he looks at me. "Malfoy, you'll tell Blaise when to come, right?"

I glance at Hermione. "Just give me the signal," I say to her.

She nods and puts a hand over the heart charm. Then she says, "Bye, Draco."

I realize that if this plan goes south, this may be the last time I ever see her. Fuck. I step toward her and lean down to get another taste of her.

What if I die? What if I never have the chance to tell her how I feel?

But I can't seem to get the words out.

"Bye, Hermione," I mutter. I love you.

Potter Disapparates, and Hermione backs away from me, lifting her wand to Disapparate as well.

"See you on the other side," Blaise says to her.

She only nods in response. Then she turns and meets my eyes once more, and in that moment, every fiber of my being screams at me to tell her not to leave, to fuck this plan. Everyone in Hogwarts can go to hell. I just want to be with her. We could stay here forever. No one would be able to find us.

But she would never agree to that. I know it.

With a last faint smile, she Disapparates.

Then Blaise speaks.

"I understand your reasoning for not telling them about your crackpot rescue plan, but honestly, the likelihood of their getting caught is close to zero. I mean, you told _me_—"

"I'll be wiping your memory," I say. "Everything that references the escape plan. Because when Voldemort inevitably cracks into your mind, I'm not letting him see what my next move is."

He sighs. "I guess it's for the best."

"It is."

"I still think you should have told Hermione, at least."

"She wouldn't let it happen, if she knew," I say. "She'd leap over all the stuff in between and say that it isn't worth it, that I might as well save the trouble and turn myself in from the start."

"She's not that unreasonable," Blaise says.

"All girls who decide to start fancying guys become unreasonable, to some degree. At least, that's how it's been in my relatively limited experience," I say, grinning at him.

He shakes his head. "That isn't funny."

Yes, he's still touchy about the boy he was in school.

"Anyway, today was a good enough example. Do you think it was reasonable for Daphne to agree to help us?"

He pauses. "So you _do_ believe in Hermione's feelings for you."

"Tentatively."

"I think you should show her more of your thoughts. She's legitimately worried about you."

I frown. "Worried about me? Why—"

"What happened in Russia? She wanted me to ask you that."

"I already told her that I wouldn't be telling anyone. That includes you."

"What if I promised not to tell her?"

"I can't accept a promise from you. She probably already made you promise to tell her everything. And besides, she still has access to your head."

"Can you not think so much, for once?"

"You say it as though you're not always thinking a lot," I reply.

"Yeah, all right," he concedes. After a pause, he says, "Was it really that bad? Maybe you're just making it out to be—"

"Yes, it was really that bad. Now will you drop it?" I say impatiently.

He nods. "Sorry."

I start toward the kitchen, but his next words stop me in my tracks.

"Do you mind telling me how you escaped when you were exposed? I know someone died in the process."

"How—"

"I know you, Draco," he says. "I saw the look on your face when you were recovering after the escape. Nothing else could have put that expression on your face. Was it your mom?"

I don't respond.

"She's… really gone," he realizes.

"You're not helping."

"I'm sorry, mate."

I continue on my original course and enter the kitchen.

"Hello, Master!" Naree exclaims.

"Hello, Naree," I reply. "Have you recovered?"

He nods. "Fully. See, Master did not have to make a potion for Naree. Naree can recover very quickly on his own."

"Yes, I see that," I say.

I look over and see that Weasley's glaring at me, but he isn't speaking. It's nice to know that even Potter decided that he deserves to be left hanging.

"Mate, you have to talk about this," Blaise says. "You can't leave it buried like that."

"Sure I can."

"Hermione won't be able to just guess it, like I did. You have to tell her."

"Give me one reason why I should do that."

"To build trust. To build your relationship. What's the point of keeping it a secret anyway? I know that you're strong, but this isn't something you should try to handle on your own."

"It won't change anything, telling her. I don't want her to pity me."

"You need it, Draco. It's not healthy to let yourself go on like this," he says.

"You're not a Healer. You don't know what's good for me."

"Yes, I do," he says, and now he looks a bit angry. "You think you're such a tough guy, don't you? Holding it all in doesn't make you strong. Strength is having the ability to let someone in, even when you're afraid."

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you are. Don't deny it in front of me. I see through all your bullshit, Draco."

I glare at him.

"What the hell are you two talking about?" Weasley finally blurts, unable to hold in his curiosity.

"None of your business," Blaise says.

He jerks his head toward the living room, and I reluctantly follow him back outside.

"Naree, take care of my guest, will you?" I tell the house-elf before leaving.

He smiles widely as he shuts the door.

"All right, fine," I say. "You caught me. I'm afraid of opening up. Now what?"

"It's not all bad, Draco. Let her see the rest of you. She only sees this cold front that you put up. How can she really get into you if you never show her who you are?"

"She doesn't want the person I really am."

"You don't know that."

"You don't know what I've done, Blaise."

"I know, Draco. You've murdered, tortured, ripped people apart. But—"

I shake my head. "Just stop. You're not going to convince me."

"You're dooming your relationship with her, if you keep this up. She won't stick around if you never let her in."

"What is this, relationship counseling? Leave me alone."

"Don't you want her to stay with you? Don't you want to be with her?"

I walk past him and sit down on the couch. "Shut up, Blaise."

He looks at me, clearly frustrated. "Do you see how much she cares about you? Can't you see it?"

I refuse to answer. She still doesn't _know_. If she knew, she wouldn't…

"I'd give anything for her to look at me like that, Draco," Blaise confesses.

I look up and see that he's watching the ground, fighting back the pain that is threatening to come to the surface.

"You can't deny her a chance," he continues. "It's for real. Her feelings are real, Draco. As real as yours or mine. Don't dismiss them. If we both make it through this, and I hear from her that you still aren't letting her in, I'm going to murder you myself."

He's not joking. Well, maybe he is about murdering me. But I haven't seen him look so solemn in a long time.

"Mate, it's not _your_ relationship that I'll be ruining, if I don't tell her anything."

"So you acknowledge that it'll ruin your relationship," he says.

"We were never really meant to be together."

"More bullshit. You don't believe in fate. I _know_ you, Draco. Don't fucking lie to me."

I shake my head. "Leave it alone, Blaise."

"What can you have done that was _that_ bad, mate? She knows you were a Death Eater for years. She understands that you had no choice in the matter. You aren't the one to blame for everything that Voldemort made you do, and she knows that."

"Shut up."

"Draco—"

I glare up at him. "I told you to _shut up_."

His eyes narrow, and I can tell he's trying to guess at what could possibly have happened in Russia to make me act this way. But he can't lift the truth out of my eyes, can't force his way into my mind.

"Look, there's a chance that one of us is going to die tonight. And I hope, for Hermione's sake, that if someone has to die, it'll be me."

"Blaise—"

"Let me finish," he interrupts. "If she loses me, she'll be sad. She'll have lost a best friend. But you… your relationship just began. I don't think heartbreak would be an exaggeration, at this point. But I don't think she'd fare much better if you survived and continued to shut her out like this."

I take advantage of a pause in his speech to interject, "You're not going to die tonight, Blaise."

"That brings me to another point," he says. "If there's a moment tonight where you have a choice between saving me or saving yourself, don't be noble."

"I won't let you die, mate."

His eyes harden. "Is that how little her feelings matter to you, then? Do you somehow not care how she'll feel about the outcome?"

"I care, but for you, it'll be life or death. For her… it'll just be emotional. She can recover from that. You can't come back from the dead."

"But _you_ can't come back from the dead, either. Do you really think I want you to die for me?"

"Do _you_ think I want _you_ to die for _me?_" I shoot back.

We stare at each other for a moment, neither willing to relent. I can't just disregard his life like that. I understand that Hermione won't exactly be happy to hear about my death, but I'm sure that Blaise and Potter will look after her.

And sometimes I think death would be a welcome relief. Gone would be the pain, the guilt, the grief, the nightmares, the constant inability to sleep…

And then Blaise somehow manages to lift the sentiments right out of my mind.

"Do you _want_ to die, Draco?" he asks in a low, clearly concerned voice.

"No," I say firmly.

I'm not suicidal. I'm just not loath to the idea of dying. It's not the worst that could happen.

"Are you sure?"

I nod. "Of course. When have I ever acted suicidal?"

"You're perfectly capable of hiding your true intentions, Draco."

"From everyone else, yes, but from you?"

"Good point."

"Can we just get through this first? You can worry about my relationship later."

"If I die—"

"Which you won't," I say.

"—I don't want you to drive her away," he continues as though I hadn't spoken.

"You're a nosy bastard, you know that?"

"So you've told me before."

"Well, I'm not going to promise anything," I say. "It's a part of me that I don't want anyone to know. But I'll try to… in your words, _open up_."

"I guess that's the best I'm gonna get out of you."

"It is."

He watches me sullenly for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and sitting down next to me.

"Can't say I didn't try," he says.

"I should wipe your memories now."

He nods and shifts slightly to face me. I draw my wand at point it at him.

"Obliviate."

I sift through the memories of the past hour, erasing anything in our conversations that might allude to the fact that there is a rescue plan.

A moment later, I stow my wand away again, and he leans back against the couch.

"Mate…" he begins.

Then my chest burns, and I pull out the snake pendant.

He looks over. "Is that Hermione?" he asks.

I nod. "She says it's time."

He raises an eyebrow. "Already? That was quick."

"Yes."

"If we live through this… we should forget about everything that happened. Start over," he says as he gets to his feet.

I shake my head. "We can never start over."

"Then we'll give it another try."

I hesitate, then nod slightly. If we live through this.

He Transfigures himself into me. "Good luck, Draco."

"Good luck."

Then I watch as my mirror image twists away and Disapparates.


	86. Chapter 86 H

**Author's Note:** So, it's already almost 4:30am, but I realized that today's Halloween! So I figured I might as well stay up a little while later to put up another chapter. Happy Halloween, guys! (:

**Chapter 86**

"They're already coming," I say.

Harry takes the spot beside me and peers out the window. "Damn. It's so early."

There's still some time left before sunset, but I already see some dark shapes gathering just outside the Hogwarts boundary. Apparently they know not to cross it, because I haven't seen anyone get shocked and repelled just yet.

We head downstairs toward the ground floor. The numerous people in the castle seem agitated—we all know the threat that's coming. We kept to McGonagall and Shacklebolt's new policy of avoiding secrets whenever possible, so all of us are bracing ourselves for an attack. Most of them don't believe that Draco would turn himself in for us. And to be honest, if I were in their place, I probably would think the same thing.

But I know now that even if he wouldn't do it for them, he would do it for me.

Suddenly, as we move down an empty corridor, Harry drags me into an empty classroom and shuts the door.

"What are you—" I begin to ask.

"This'll only take a minute," he interrupts. "While you and Blaise were figuring things out in his head, Malfoy and I had a really short talk."

"About what?" I ask, repressing the urge to cringe at the thought of what I'd seen in Blaise's mind. I still can't believe that he would use the L-word toward me.

"I can't really tell you."

I raise an eyebrow. "That's a bit hypocritical of you, don't you think?"

"I know, and I'm sorry. I need you to answer a question."

"All right, what is it?"

"Do you trust Malfoy?"

"What do you mean?"

"Would you…" Harry sighs. "Can I trust him with my life?"

I frown. "What did he ask you to do?"

"It's a yes or no question, Hermione."

"I would trust him with my life."

"Would you trust him with _mine_, though?" Harry asks.

I consider it for a moment before replying. "Yes… I think so."

"Are you sure about that?"

I sigh. "I don't know the circumstances, Harry. How do you expect me to gauge his actions completely out of context?"

"All right, all right. I guess it's good enough that he wants the war to end and Voldemort to die."

"What does that have to do with—"

"I'm looking for a reason to trust him," Harry says. "I'm convincing myself—or trying to, I guess."

"Are you done, then? We should probably go," I say.

Then there's a very low, booming sound, followed by a voice in my head.

_Today, I come not to kill all of you, but to retrieve a traitor. If you hand him over, my followers and I will leave without harming a single one of you. If not, we will not rest until each and every one of you is exterminated. Hand over Draco Malfoy, and you will survive. Protect him, and you will die._

The voice fades, and I exchange glances with Harry.

He chuckles nervously. "Strong sense of déjà vu, eh?" he comments.

I nod. "Definitely."

We exit the classroom and go down two more floors to the entrance, where a large crowd has gathered. Looking around, I realize just how many of us are here. We're at least a hundred strong—but that can't possibly match up to all of the Death Eaters in Britain…

McGonagall appears from the crowd and asks Harry a question that I don't hear over all the talking in the hall.

"We're sure," Harry tells her. "We'll protect Hogwarts."

She nods, lips pressed into a thin line, and instructs the people in the entrance hall to move into the Great Hall instead, where there will be more room. It's just too crowded out here.

As everyone files out of the way, Harry and I move toward the exit. Fred, George, Angelina, Katie, Ginny, Neville, and a few other former students whose names I don't know flank us as we walk down the stairs and onto the grounds.

It's only been a few minutes, yet there is already a sea of Death Eaters right at the boundary. They're motionless, eerily silent. What discipline.

Or maybe Voldemort's just in all of their heads, controlling them.

But I don't think even Voldemort can control so many people at once. Merlin… if our plan doesn't work, Hogwarts looks doomed.

Then Voldemort appears just outside the boundary, in front of his followers.

"Do you really think you can negotiate?" he asks, his voice magnified so that we can hear him even from a distance.

We walk until we're about level with Hagrid's hut before stopping. The edge of the grounds is still far away, but we'll be able to speak with him from here if we amplify our voices.

Harry points his wand at his neck and murmurs, "Sonorus." Then he says, "We'll only give him up if you send all your Death Eaters away from Hogwarts first."

Voldemort sneers. "Are you trying to buy your friends a little time? Do you think that my Death Eaters will not return as soon as I summon them?"

Harry doesn't reply, and I start to wonder if Draco miscalculated Voldemort's willingness to send his forces away. What if he gets impatient and decides it'd be easier to just attack?

But to my surprise, he lifts a hand and makes a gesture. The Death Eaters start backing away from the boundary. They begin Disapparating in groups.

"Fucking hell, how big _is_ Malfoy on the Dark side?" Fred mutters.

Harry just shakes his head. I shift so that I'm behind Harry and pull out the heart charm, wrapping my hand around it and shutting my eyes. _It's time_. After sending the message, I stow the charm away again.

"Granger," Voldemort says. "It's been some time since we last met, hasn't it?"

I amplify my voice and reply, "Can't say I'm sorry about that."

"I told you that I would discover the traitor's identity, with or without your help," he says. "And now, I have."

"Congratulations, then," I say, infusing my voice with sarcasm.

The last Death Eaters disappear, and Voldemort looks around. "Well?" he says. "Where is he?"

Then there's a pop, and Draco appears several meters away from Voldemort, outside the boundary. My heart immediately leaps into my throat. I honestly can't tell whether this is Blaise or Draco.

He says something, and Voldemort's head whips in his direction.

Then, before any of us can react, Voldemort is at his side. His long fingers wrap around Blaise-Draco's wrist, and they disappear.

We're all silent for a long moment.

Then Angelina says, "Did… did that foul git really just give himself up… for _us?_"

Harry grips my arm, reminding me of our plan. "Go to him—now. We'll take you back up to the castle."

I nod and close my eyes, relaxing so that I'll be able to find the tunnel between our minds. I hear Ginny asking Harry what he's talking about, but before Harry can respond, I find the connection and get pulled in.

I'm on the other side, now… I think.

But I can't open my eyes. I frown—I can't hear his thoughts at all.

Oh god, he's not dead, is he?

I search the blank space frantically and find pieces of memories floating around. Then I hear vague, incoherent whispers and realize that Blaise could simply be unconscious.

Oh, thank Merlin.

"Rennervate."

_Fuck, what a headache_, I hear in his voice.

_I'm here_, I project.

Blaise opens his eyes, and we see a small room. He's seated in a high-backed chair, and when he realizes that there aren't any restraints, he immediately flips his hand over, flexing experimentally. So he still has full motor capabilities.

_Why am I not tied down, then?_ he wonders.

"I am severely disappointed in you, Draco," Voldemort says from behind the chair.

"I thought you might be," Blaise says.

It was already weird to be in Blaise's head and hear his voice coming out of what feels like my mouth. It's even stranger to hear Draco's voice instead. God, I'm going to get a headache.

"Now, let's see. You will hardly be willing to tell me the truth, and I can no longer trust that your mind will open to me," Voldemort muses. "What a predicament."

_Fuck, this is going to hurt._

_You can do it_, I tell him. _Hang in there._

"What do you think I should do, Draco?" Voldemort continues. "I spent so much time working on you, perfecting you. You were going to be my masterpiece. Where did I go wrong?"

_Sick fucking bastard. His _masterpiece?

"Legilimency is still most reliable," Voldemort decides. "But we must lower your defenses before we begin."

He finally strides into view, and Blaise glares up at him.

"I don't care what you do to me," he says. "You'll kill me in the end either way. I won't give anything up."

"Oh no, I don't think I'll kill you, Draco. No, you can still be of use to me."

At these words, Blaise tenses up.

"I won't let all of those skills I taught you go to waste," he finishes.

"What will you do to me, then?" Blaise asks, successfully keeping the concern out of his voice.

"There are ways of controlling people that are far more effective than the Imperius Curse," Voldemort says.

God, that sounds terrifying. Blaise is thinking very quickly, so quickly that his thoughts are incoherent to me. For once, I think that he's legitimately afraid. And this might be his way of coping with the fear.

"Go ahead, then," he says in a perfectly steady voice.

How can someone whose mind is in such a tumultuous state remain so composed on the outside? I can't help but marvel at that skill.

Voldemort points his wand at Blaise, and I immediately feel a painful sting in my chest. But it's hundreds of times less painful than the time that I was tortured myself, and I know that Blaise must be feeling so much worse.

His mind is full of curse words and images of carving flesh and roaring flames. I try to project more soothing images into his mind, praying that it'll help. All the pain concentrates in one spot, and Blaise lets out a loud shout, but he sounds angrier than he does hurt.

_It's going to be okay_, I project. _You're going to be fine, Blaise. You'll be fine._

Through his delirium, he seems to acknowledge my words, drawing strength from them.

Then the pain fades, and Blaise opens his eyes to see Voldemort frowning at him.

"And I thought you'd gotten better at this," the evil snake says. "Pitiful."

_Better at what?_ I ask Blaise. Maybe he knows a little bit about what Draco had to do with Voldemort.

_I have no fucking idea what he's talking about_, Blaise replies.

"You make me feel like I wasted all that time working on you. How pathetic. Let's try that again, shall we?"

_Lie to me, Hermione. I'm begging you, lie to me._

Then he's enveloped in pain again, even worse than before. I feel the throbbing increase, and he starts twitching in agony, grinding his teeth together in an effort to bite back his screams.

_Lie to you? About what?_

What can I possibly lie to him about?

Blaise lets out a low growl but clenches his teeth together again, jerking in his seat as he tries to shut out the pain.

Then I realize what he wants—needs—to hear.

_I love you. Blaise, I love you. Hold on—you can do this._

I can feel his battered mind doing its best to pick itself up, and I'm surprised by how powerful a few small words can be. But even though I'm lying to him to give him strength, I'm still filled with guilt.

_Blaise, I love you so much. You're the only person I'd ever want to be with. You're strong enough to fight him off. I believe in you._

When the pain finally fades away, Blaise relaxes into the chair, gasping for air.

_Good job_, I tell him. _We'll make it out of here. We can do it._

"Slightly less dismal, but you've certainly regressed since Russia," Voldemort comments. He shakes his head and barks, "Bellatrix!"

Draco's aunt emerges promptly from a side door.

"I thought you'd like the chance to punish your nephew for betraying your family—when I finish with him tonight, he will not remember having a family," Voldemort says.

_Maybe it'd be better if we revealed your identity right now_, I say, starting to panic. What is he going to do to Blaise?

_No. He'll go straight back to Hogwarts, and that won't be pretty_, Blaise replies.

I'm startled by how collected his thoughts are. How did he recover so quickly?

_He'll discover the truth eventually. We won't be able to hold him off indefinitely_, I argue.

Then Bellatrix says, "This isn't him."

Blaise whips his head in the witch's direction. "Excuse me, Aunt Bella?" he asks, perfectly mimicking the intonation that Draco uses when he's mildly offended.

"You're not Draco," Bellatrix says clearly.

Voldemort frowns but doesn't speak.

"He would never take off the necklace Cissy gave him," Bellatrix explains, pointing to Blaise's bare neck.

"Very observant, Bellatrix," Voldemort says approvingly. "Let's see how right you are."

Then he's drilling into Blaise's mind. I throw up barriers with all my might—the game is up, but we can still buy at least a little more time. But Blaise isn't much help. Resisting the Torture Curse drained him, but he still tries to give me a little help.

_Fuck it, Hermione_, he finally tells me. _Give up. Retreat into the tunnel—he won't be able to find the entrance because I have no control over it. He can't reach your mind._

_But Blaise, you—_

_I'll be fine. If I die, you'll automatically wake up in your own body. Count to forty and check back in._

_Are you sure?_

I'm feeling extremely strained, and my barriers are being battered from all sides. What'll happen if I cave in while I'm still in his mind? Will Voldemort know that I'm here?

_Go_, Blaise thinks.

I disappear into the tunnel, retreating from his mind. The space is tight, constricted, and I don't really know where I am—I'm not quite in my own mind, but I'm not in his, either. I almost think I can hear Harry's voice…

Nervously, I begin to count to forty, praying that I won't suddenly open my eyes and find myself at Hogwarts. Blaise can't die. He _can't_.

But when I reach forty, I'm still stuck in the same place. I hesitantly reenter Blaise's mind in time to hear Bellatrix speaking to him.

"You must know where he is. Give up the location, and join our side. The Zabinis—"

"You should know I wouldn't do that. I'm not interested in becoming a servant to _anyone_," Blaise says.

_Where did Voldemort go?_ I ask him.

_He just stormed out, furious. He caught the bit about Horcruxes… I hope Draco's out of there already._

"Very well, then. We'll wait for him to come to us. I know my nephew very well."

_Pfft, yeah right._

"He wouldn't let you rot in jail for him," Bellatrix says. "Of course, if that fails, he seems to be rather attached to Mudblood Granger. If we threaten her life, he'll be sure to step in."

I hold back a gasp. _How_—

_He got into my head, Hermione_, Blaise says. _I couldn't stop him from taking a look around._

_It's okay_, I say, mainly to soothe him. _He's Voldemort, for goodness' sake. But oh, this is bad._

_Very_, he agrees.

"Well, since you've chosen not to cooperate, I'll just have to lock you up," Bellatrix says, breaking the silence. "Good-bye, Blaise."

Then a Stunning Spell flies at him, and he goes unconscious.

I'm still in his head, and I realize when Bellatrix takes a few steps toward him that I can still hear.

So are his senses unaltered when he's unconscious? That's interesting…

"I'll take him myself," I hear Bellatrix saying. "Get out of my sight. I won't have you screwing this up."

About a minute later, I hear a gruff but respectful voice saying, "Madam Lestrange."

Bellatrix makes no audible response. Then I hear a loud clang and realize that Blaise has just been placed in a cell.

"Thank you."

The voice that says the words is so soft that I almost don't recognize it. No, no… it's _impossible_ that Bellatrix could be thanking Blaise. What would she have to thank him for? It… it can't possibly because he sacrificed himself for Draco, can it? Does she really care about her nephew?

The thought is absolutely ludicrous, but I find myself considering it anyway.

Then Bellatrix's footsteps fade away, and I try to wake Blaise up, to no avail. I briefly consider going back to my own body, but I shouldn't—there isn't much good to be done at Hogwarts, and I want to be here as soon as Blaise wakes.

While I wait, I suppose I could go through his memories and see what he and Draco were planning. It could give me something to expect.

I start listening in on Blaise's last memory of Draco, halfway through what seems to be an… an argument? Between the two Slytherins, it's difficult to tell. Their conversation is calm, and from the dialogue alone, I probably would never have guessed that they were arguing. But seeing this from Blaise's eyes, I can feel every flare of anger in him.

There's an acutely painful twinge of jealousy as he admits, "I'd give anything for her to look at me like that."

It doesn't take a genius to figure out he's talking about me. Wincing at his pain and suddenly feeling extremely guilty for the intrusion, I turn away from the conversation. It's so touching that he would fight for my happiness, even when it means his heartbreak.

Then I realize that I'm listening to the beginning of the conversation. How did I get here? I start to back out of the memories when I hear a thought from Blaise that stops me cold.

_Fucking hell, it was Narcissa who died, wasn't it?_

I listen more closely to the conversation.

"_How—" Draco begins._

"_I know you, Draco," Blaise interrupts. "I saw the look on your face when you were recovering from the escape. Nothing else could have put that expression on your face. Was it your mom?"_

Draco in the memory is silent, and I feel an irrepressible urge to cry. But I soon realize that I _can't_—I'm still in Blaise's body, and he's unconscious.

Draco's mother died, and he didn't say a word. Is _that_ how little he trusts me? Is that how far apart we still are?

"_She's… really gone," Blaise realizes aloud._

"_You're not helping," Draco says shortly._

"_I'm sorry, mate."_

I tug myself away from Blaise's memories, hiding in the dark space of his unconscious mind.

I'd already anticipated that it would be difficult to make my way into Draco's heart. For some reason, he allows me to control him—he'll do almost anything as long as it's for me. But he doesn't trust me with his secrets. He doesn't trust my feelings for him.

He's such a goddamn paradox!

He doesn't hesitate to do what I ask of him, to put his life in danger for me. Yet he can't share with me the fact that his mother, someone who was so important to him, passed away.

Despair fills me, and I feel extremely cold and alone.

Is the barrier around his heart as impenetrably thick as the one around his mind?

* * *

Sometime later, I hear a faint whisper.

"Dartmoor."

Is that where we—where Blaise is? But I don't hear anything else, and I begin to wonder if I only imagined it. It's so tiring, waiting in the dark for Blaise to wake, with only my dejected thoughts of Draco to keep me company.

Then I feel him coming to. His mind stirs and seems to come alive around me, and it's a beautiful experience. The last time he awoke, it was on command—he'd been awakened by Voldemort's spell. But the natural transition from emptiness to awareness is magnificent to watch, almost like a sunrise.

_Are you okay?_ I ask him.

_Yeah, I'm bloody terrific_, he thinks. _My head is killing me…_

_I just heard a voice say "Dartmoor" to you_, I inform him. _Does that mean anything to you?_

_Dartmoor, Dartmoor, Dartmoor… no, doesn't mean a thing to me._

_Why would anyone—_ I begin to ask.

_It's Draco's doing. He knows you're in here. He needs—fuck. He's going to try to rescue me._

_How did you make _that_ leap?_ I ask.

_He needs you to get our location to him. So go—now. If you fuck with his plans, he's just going to improvise, and that'll make everything worse. Go. End the connection._

_But I don't want to leave you_, I say.

_I'll be fine. If they didn't kill me as soon as they found out, then they won't choose to kill me now. Go._

_Wait—he can't seriously come himself. We can send people to—_

_The members of the Order aren't Death Eaters. They won't be able to open these cells. Tell Draco, Hermione. Trust him to do this right. He knows what he's doing_, Blaise says.

I hesitate. This doesn't sound like a good idea. Didn't Bellatrix _just_ say that she would be waiting for him to come? What if they're expecting Draco to show up here?

Suddenly, I feel myself being thrown forcefully into the tunnel.

I open my eyes to see a white ceiling. Looking around, I see that I'm in the hospital wing at Hogwarts.

Damn it!

I shut my eyes and search my mind for the tunnel, but it quickly becomes apparent that Blaise has managed to close it off. I struggle with myself for a moment. I don't want Draco to put himself in danger.

But Blaise is right. Knowing Draco as well as he does, I'm sure that his prediction is apt when he says that Draco will simply decide to improvise if his plan goes awry. Reluctantly, I pull the chain out from under my shirt and wrap my hand around the charm, shutting my eyes.

"She's awake," I hear Ginny say.

Yes, I'm awake. Let's just hope that both Draco and Blaise can make it through this _awake_. I focus on one word: _Dartmoor_.

Please, please, _please_, Draco, don't get yourself killed tonight.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm right there with you, Hermione.


	87. Chapter 87 D

**Author's Note:** This week was awful, to the point that I'm too tired to even list all the crap I did. And I have a slight but annoying headache right behind my eyes. So I'll just leave it at that and get along with the post. Needless to say, very little got written this week. Hopefully next week will be a bit more productive.

**Chapter 87**

"Oi, Draco. You're early," Theo says.

"Grab the head," I reply.

"What?"

"The shrunken one. Go get it."

Theo frowns but disappears from view, doing as he's told. As he returns, I step through the fireplace into his house and grab his arm, Disapparating immediately.

We appear along the outskirts of the camp at Derbyshire, and Theo looks at me, waiting for me to explain. I take the small jar out of his hands and look at Finnigan's shrunken head, suppressing the urge to shudder.

"We're going to rescue Frank Longbottom," I tell him as I carefully stow the jar away.

His eyes widen. "Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

"Shut up. Just go down to the secret dungeons. I'll be following under a Disillusionment Charm. Act natural."

"How the _hell_ am I supposed to—"

"Theo, look at me," I say.

He fixes two large, frantic eyes on me.

I heave a sigh. "How did you make it through these years, mate? You have the nerve of a kitten."

"I'm fine when we're out killing Mudbloods. That's not difficult. Right now, you're asking me to—to betray the _Dark Lord_. Punishment for that isn't just a Killing Curse to the chest, you know."

"Yes, I know how Oliver Wood was killed."

"But you weren't there to see it."

Theo was clearly traumatized by the event. But I can't waste any time on consoling my friend.

"You can do it, mate. Let's get going. The clock's ticking. If you don't hurry your arse up, I'll hand you over to Voldemort myself with a note saying that you were my accomplice."

He knows as well as I do that it's an empty threat, only meant to convey that I'm in no mood to waste time. He takes a deep breath and strides into camp. I cast a Disillusionment Charm and follow close behind him, shadowing his steps.

We pass by the guards without incident and move through the empty hallway to the secret door. Once we're through it, I reveal myself and move to Longbottom's cell.

The door is just as easy to open as it was before, which means Voldemort can't have discovered the truth yet. I step into the cell and see that the old man is asleep.

Not wanting to wake him, I free him of his restraints with a few flicks of my wand and levitate him so that he won't hit the ground.

"We can't Disapparate from in here—we'll have to go to the main hallway," Theo tells me.

I nod and move over to the unconscious old man floating in the air. I take his weight on my shoulder and gesture for Theo to open the door. He sticks his head out first, then opens the door fully and steps out into the hallway.

I follow swiftly, grabbing onto his arm and Disapparating as soon as I'm in the hall. We appear just outside the boundary of Hogwarts, a few yards farther to the east than I'd originally planned. I realize that this is the Apparition Point that Hermione had used that night.

Seems as though it's already been an eternity since that night…

I turn to Theo as people from the castle start heading in our direction.

"Go to Rowle's house," I tell him.

He frowns. "But why? What am I supposed to do there?"

"Keep your head down, that's what. He's expecting you."

"_What?_"

"He's taking orders from me," I snap. "He'll tell you what I want you to do, but until then, stay out of sight. Don't leave the house unless there's an emergency. Now get out of here, all right? The Order won't take lightly to seeing two Death Eaters on their doorstep. Get going."

Theo nods. "All right, all right. I'm leaving."

As he Disapparates, the members of the Order who had been coming in my direction reach firing range and point their wands at me.

"I have a special delivery for Potter," I tell them, shifting the weight on my shoulder.

"Draco Malfoy," one of them says, eyes wide.

I don't recognize him.

"Didn't you just give yourself up? How are you here, alive?" he continues.

I glare at him. "I don't have _time_ for this, you imbecile. Get Potter out here right now."

He bristles at the insult but doesn't retort, heading back toward the castle instead. The other person who had come toward me was a girl. I think she'd been in Ravenclaw, maybe two or three years below me.

She has her wand pointed at me, and I can see the fear on her face.

I instantly get another flashback of _her_, and I close my eyes. I don't need a reminder of what I did, what I felt. I want to disappear.

No. Not today. Not when there's so much left to be done. I'm not going to crack today.

_Not today._

A few minutes later, Potter appears at the entrance to the castle and hurries over with a few other members of the Order in tow. One of them breaks away from the group at the sight of me, sprinting toward the boundary.

I realize as he draws near that it's Neville Longbottom. Bloody bastard blew my cover. If it weren't for the sake of his parents, I'd be giving him a taste of hell right now.

The Ravenclaw girl attempts to hold him back when he reaches her, but he brushes her off and comes straight toward me.

Apparently it doesn't really matter to him whether or not I could be another Death Eater in disguise.

I gently put his father down on the ground as he reaches me.

"Neville, you're a goddamn idiot, you know that?" one of the Weasley twins shouts. They've also reached the boundary, but none of them have crossed over.

"Dad—Dad? Dad, are you all right?" Longbottom is asking.

I hear the old man wake up, hear the way his voice breaks when he calls his son's name. I glance down at the reunion and see that father and son both have tears in their eyes. Suddenly feeling like an intruder, I move away from them and toward the boundary.

"Don't come any closer," Potter warns me. "You'll get shocked."

"I'm aware of that," I say, stopping just a few inches shy of the border.

"Did you get the Horcrux?" he asks.

The others are now listening intently, not paying as much attention to the Longbottom reunion that's going on. All but one girl, that is—she moves over to father and son and coaxes them to cross the boundary into safe territory.

"I have it," I tell Potter.

"I'll help you destroy it, then," he says.

I smile. I knew he'd make the right choice.

"You're leaving with him?" the other Weasley twin says.

I still don't remember which one has his ear chopped off. I'll have to ask Hermione to remind me someday. If I live till then.

Ignoring him, I say, "Back to my home, then. It'll be safer there."

The Weasley twins are looking at Potter, still waiting for a response.

"Yes, I'm going with him," Potter says. "Keep an eye on Hermione for me. And don't let her leave the hospital wing when she wakes—I think she's going to be itching to come after us."

I nod. "Keep her on the grounds."

The Weasley twins look between Potter and me, no doubt curious as to why we're working together.

"Do you know what you're doing, Harry?" the one-eared twin asks.

Potter nods. "Don't worry about it. See you later."

He steps past the boundary, and we Apparate back to my cottage.

"Thanks for bringing Neville's dad back," Potter says.

I don't respond and pull out the jar that contains Finnigan's head. It's easier for me to just keep moving, right now. I can't be idle. If I'm not doing _something_, then my mind is going to lapse back to _her_ face. And I don't think I can take that right now.

Potter winces at the sight of the head.

"Yes, I know. It's disgusting," I say.

"Why would Voldemort use a human head as a—"

"It's not the head—it's the earring."

"The earring?" Potter leans over, then backs up a step and looks at me. "That's not—that's not who I think it is, is it?"

"Seamus Finnigan," I say.

His face is pained as he looks at the shriveled head. Then he clears his throat and looks back up at me. I can tell that he's struggling to keep his eyes from straying back to his friend's head.

"How did you know it was his earring?" he asks me.

I take a deep breath. I guess now is as good as any other time to come clean.

"It followed the same pattern as the dagger I gave you last time," I tell him. "I obtained the… material, and Macnair hid it after it was made into a Horcrux."

It takes a moment for Potter to catch on.

"_You_ killed him."

It's a statement, not a question.

I nod.

He clenches his jaw, and his hands ball into fists.

"You can hit me, if it'll make you feel any better," I offer. "But I don't think it will help."

He shakes his head. "No, it won't." Then he turns his attention back to the jar and clears his throat. "Should we—is there some sort of curse that we'll have to break to get his head out?"

I'm surprised that he's not angrier at the realization that I killed his friend. But then again, I've been a Death Eater for three years. I've killed several of his friends. The only difference about this time is that he happened to find out. But I still have the feeling that this conversation isn't over.

I lift the jar and examine the seal. "Should be fine," I reply. "Would you rather kill the thing, or should I?"

He reaches into his pocket, takes out Hermione's beaded handbag, and extracts a small box. He opens it to show me a basilisk fang.

"I'll do it," he says.

I summon my basin from the bathroom and hold the jar over it.

"I'll open this and pour it into the basin. Don't miss. I'm pretty sure he'll have some sort of nasty curse on this thing."

Potter nods, lifting the fang in preparation. He nods to give me the okay, and I open the jar.

Gelatinous liquid tips out of the container and into the basin, along with the head. As soon as the head lands in the basin, Potter lunges for the earring. But the jelly that was used to suspend the head suddenly rises up out of the basin, rapidly taking the shape of what looks like a giant squid.

I attempt a Freezing Charm to immobilize it, but the spell has no effect. Potter tries to Impede and Stun the bugger, but it continues to get taller and larger.

When the transformation is complete, the gelatinous giant squid lunges at Potter, who dodges out of the way and leaps toward the basin. A huge tentacle extends toward him, but I point my wand at it, severing it.

But before Potter can reach the basin, another tentacle wraps around his ankle, and Potter struggles to stay on his feet.

I step closer to the basin and lift my hand as though to strike the shrunken head, banking on the fact that the spell should put highest priority on protecting its charge. Sure enough, the creature releases Potter to come for me.

I slam my fist down on the edge of the basin, flinging the head in Potter's direction just as several tentacles wrap around my chest. Potter slows the momentum of the head as it reaches him and slices at the earring with the fang.

But the squid is extremely strong and works excruciatingly quickly—by the time the tentacles vanish, I'm already seeing dark spots. I drop to my knees, bracing my palms on the ground and sucking deep breaths of air into my lungs.

"What the hell was that thing?" Potter asks, sounding slightly breathless.

"Fucking ugly, that's what it was," I reply as I get back to my feet.

"You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Then it's about time to go."

"I just need to wait for Hermione to give me Blaise's location," I say. "Should be soon—I can't imagine they lasted long before Voldemort cracked his way in."

He nods, and we fall silent.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Headache is worse now than it was before… :/


	88. Chapter 88 D

**Author's Note:** Let's see… do I have anything to say to you guys up here? Hmm… OH YEAH. Oh my gosh. I don't know how many of you guys are Supernatural fans, but I'm just… sigh. I'm _still_ in denial about Castiel being dead. Cas should come back! I keep hearing that they're going to bring Misha back, but not Cas. And this makes me very depressed, because I liked Cas! :/

Completely irrelevant, but it had to be said, hahaha.

**Chapter 88**

A few minutes later, Potter says, "Malfoy, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, but I may or may not answer."

"Why are you doing this?"

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"Why are you going to save Blaise?"

"Are you joking?"

He shakes his head.

"Just because I'm a snake, you think I'd let my best mate die in my place? Is that really the type of person you think I am?"

He looks interested. "I think… it's not the person you are now, but it's the person you used to be."

It's my turn to shake my head.

"You disagree?" he says. "Weren't you the one who attacked first, between the two of you?"

I raise an eyebrow. "He told you about that?"

"Yeah. Pestered him for about a year and a half before he caved," Potter says.

"What did he say?"

"Not much. He said the same thing he'd been telling us—that you two fought over whether or not to join the Death Eaters. He told me that you started the fight, though."

"I did."

We'd originally agreed to join together.

When he backed out, seemingly deserting me, I couldn't hold it together. I saw red. It was as though all our years of friendship—of _brotherhood_—meant _nothing_ to him. And rather than face the new Blaise who had negated our friendship, I chose to try to kill him, to keep the memory of what had been so that this new Blaise couldn't ruin it altogether.

I snapped, and I'm not proud of it.

"You're not going to elaborate on that?" Potter asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I smirk. "Maybe in a year and a half."

Potter chuckles at this and takes a seat on the couch. Then I glance at Weasley's red armchair and am surprised that I didn't burn the thing already. With a flick of my wand, I Vanish it.

"That thing was hideous," I say.

Potter only shrugs. Then he asks, "When did you kill Seamus? Was it the night he disappeared?"

I take a deep breath. "Yes. I killed him quickly," I say.

"Did you…"

"Decapitate him? Yes."

Potter looks at the ground for a moment. I expect him to say something about getting vengeance, so his next words take me by surprise.

"Hermione tells me that you saved her at Hogwarts, the night that we got ambushed at the Leaky Cauldron. Is that true?"

I nod.

"Then I owe my life to you," he says.

I shrug. "I didn't do it for you," I say truthfully.

"Still. If you hadn't let her go, I'd be dead."

"You got me out of the Room of Hidden Things. Seventh year—I haven't forgotten. You could have let me burn."

We're silent for a long moment.

I remember the searing heat, remember cursing Vince for being so fucking stupid. It was a miracle that Potter decided to come back for us. I still don't really understand why. Must have been that hero complex of his.

"What _happened_ to you?" Potter asks, finally breaking the silence. "You were such a—"

"Coward?" I finish for him. "Yes, I know. I just… grew out of it."

"I was going to tell you that I wanted to get revenge on you for killing Seamus, but—"

"It'll have to wait until this is over," I say.

"I'm not going to."

I glance over at him. "Why not?"

"It was orders, wasn't it? If Voldemort was going to make his earring into a Horcrux, then Seamus would have had to die anyway. The fact that it was by your hand is… practically irrelevant. If I should take it out on anyone, it should be Voldemort."

Again, he surprises me. People really don't give Potter enough credit. I'd never held much respect for Potter as the _Boy Who Lived_, but Potter the man, the one who's sitting in my living room… him I can respect.

"If you could have saved him, I think you would have," he continues. "We all heard about what you did for the Patils, and I'm sure they weren't the only ones you whisked out from under the knife."

"You're much more levelheaded than you used to be," I comment.

"Growing up does that to you."

I nod my agreement. Then I tell him, "I buried Finnigan. I'll take you there, if I live through this."

"Thanks," Potter says. "Shrunken or not, his head belongs with the rest of him."

Then the charm burns against my chest. "That's my cue," I say as I pull the charm out to look at the back.

Dartmoor, eh? Of _course_ Voldemort would choose Dartmoor. It was the site of the first betrayal he knows of.

"Wait—before you go, I have something for you," Potter says.

I turn and watch as he pulls a tattered hat out of Hermione's handbag. "What the—is that the Sorting Hat?" I ask him incredulously.

He nods.

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"Just put it in your pocket."

"And what good will it do? Should I put it on Voldemort's head and let it _sing_ him to death?"

"Just take it, all right? It's for good luck."

"Fine," I say, snatching the hat from him.

I take out my own pouch, the one that holds my broomstick, and drop the hat inside. Then I replace the pouch in my pocket and look at the Chosen One.

"If this weighs me down and gets me killed, I'll be coming after you as a ghost, Potter," I say, grinning.

He only shakes his head at me. "Good luck, Malfoy."

I nod. "Good luck, Potter."

* * *

I move swiftly down the hall.

_Homenum Revelio_.

The nonverbal, wandless spell alerts me to one person's presence, and I hope it's Daphne. If not, the plan may be screwed already.

I glance into the next cell and see Blaise, strung up as he had been when he was previously imprisoned here. They even gave him the exact same cell. I pull open the door, and the loud grating noise alerts him to my presence. He shakes his head at me, a small smile on his face.

"This is the second time I'm getting you out of a mess like this, mate," I tell him as I remove the cuffs from around his ankles and wrists.

"Yeah, but this time, you're the one who landed me here."

"I never told you that you _had_ to do this."

"Yes, I know. But then you would have given yourself up, and then you would have died."

"What a shame that would have been," I reply. "Now let's get out of here."

As soon as we step out into the hall, Voldemort appears.

"Rescuing your friend, Draco? How touching," he sneers.

"So it _was_ a trap," I say.

Voldemort smiles sinisterly. "Did you really think that I would let you succeed?"

"Try and stop me."

He stares at me for a moment, then laughs. "How do you think you'll get past me, then?"

I hear a popping sound from behind me, but Voldemort's reflexes are too inhumanly quick, and an electric-blue bolt of light flies past me. I spin around, only to see that the light has disappeared with my best mate.

"Now, would you consider that success? You've just decided to die in the place of your friend, who may or may not survive the curse he was just dealt." He shakes his head. "Disgusting."

I smirk. "Guess you couldn't stamp out the little bit of good I had in me, after all."

It's a front, and I'm sure he knows it. It'd be impossible for me to be so confident. I hadn't counted on Voldemort's reaction time being _that_ fast.

Please let Daphne get him to Hogwarts soon enough for them to save him. If I die to save Blaise, it'll be worth it. But if he dies anyway, I'll have sacrificed myself for nothing.

If I die, that is.

"I must admit," Voldemort says, "I am impressed. How did you locate your friend?"

"An old trick."

Voldemort just looks at me, waiting for the punch line.

"Communimency."

He remains silent for another moment. Finally, he says, "Interesting. An outdated form of magic, but it is undetectable by a third party. And I presume your partner in crime who Disapparated with Zabini had but to whisper the location to him. Clever."

"Thank you."

Then, as though his patience has worn out, he says, "Why aren't you trying to escape?"

"You and I know better," I say, to burst his bubble. "As soon as I arrived outside the camp, you placed a trace on me, didn't you? It's subtle, but I remember the feeling."

"And why would I do that?"

"To find my secret hiding place," I say. "To get back at me by striking where it will hurt me the most."

"I really _have_ kept you too close, haven't I?" he muses aloud.

I don't reply.

"Very well, then."

He flicks his wand once, but nothing happens, and I realize that he must have been trying to Disarm me.

"What arrogance," he says disdainfully. "You thought you could escape without a wand?"

"I knew I'd be caught, so I wouldn't need it," I say. It's not the _real_ reason why I didn't bring my wand, but he certainly doesn't need to know that.

He doesn't respond.

Then pain sets in.

A furious beast claws at my insides, slashing through bones and muscles in an attempt to break out and get a breath of fresh air.

Lava replaces the blood in my veins, putting my body on the verge of melting into a puddle.

A thousand razor blades dig into my flesh, boring thin slits into my skin.

I remain rigid, completely still and silent. My jaw is clenched, and my hands are balled into tight fists. I absorb the pain, accept it, tolerate it.

Once again, I feel like a giant pincushion.

The pain increases even more, concentrating on a point just above my heart.

A single cry escapes my lips, but I clamp my teeth together again and fight for that hard-earned control. I feel myself slipping even as I try my best to hang on. But I can do this.

I force my eyes open and stare dead-on at the dark red slits in Voldemort's face.

"You can't break me anymore," I manage to grit out through clenched teeth.

The pain lifts away, and I take a deep breath.

Voldemort looks livid, and when he speaks, his voice is dangerously soft.

"You will be put on trial. You will be found guilty. You will be tortured to an inch from death. And when you have no ability to control yourself, no ability to feel, you will be mine again," he says with unsettling conviction.

"I would rather die."

"I'm sure you would. But I'm afraid that by that time, you won't even know the difference. You'll hardly be human anymore."

I only glare at him. Never.

He waves his wand once, throwing me backwards into Blaise's cell. I struggle to stay on my feet as a wave of fatigue comes over me.

"By the way," he says as he's turning to leave, "when you are back on my side, your first target will be Hermione Granger. After all, you _were_ the one who released her. And as I'm sure you stowed her away in your safe place, you'll have no trouble finding her. Think about that, while you wait."

Then he's gone.

A headache starts to set in, and I stumble over to the corner, sliding down to sit on the ground. It's hard enough to keep barriers up within my own mind, not to mention hold up against Voldemort.

This is the best I've ever done, even including all the sessions I endured in Russia.

I point my hand at the door and give it an exhausted pull.

Of course, it doesn't open. But it was still worth a try.

I sigh as weariness begins to take over my limbs. That may have been my best performance in resisting the Torture Curse, but it was too draining. I need to rest. Otherwise, I won't have enough strength left for what's coming.

I hear a distorted voice calling my name, but I don't bother responding.

Sleep rapidly claims me.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I recently read a one-shot Dramione that I really, really liked, and I just wanted to recommend it to you guys. It's called "White, Grey, Black" and it's by DaniAndTheChocolateFactory. I feel like it deserves more recognition. It's a war story, and it's not particularly smutty, but I really enjoyed reading it. I feel like it's hard to come by really good war stories, so go read it! Now!

And maybe you could stick around and leave me a lovely little review… ;)


	89. Chapter 89 H

**Author's Note:** Hmm… I don't think I have much to say. I just want to thank you guys for sticking around for so long. I can't believe it's already been eighty-nine chapters. And to think I started this with the intention of writing a short story to help get rid of writer's block on _Vengeance_…

**Chapter 89**

"Let me _go_—I have to go!"

Fred and George each grab one of my arms, yanking me away from the exit of the hospital wing. I woke up a few minutes ago, and I immediately tried to leave—Draco will try to save Blaise, and if I can't persuade him not to go, I at least want to be able to help him.

"Harry told us not to let you go anywhere," Ginny repeats apologetically.

"Did he say _why?_"

Fred sighs. "Can you make our lives easier and just stay put, Hermione?"

They set me down on my cot, and I glower at them.

"Everyone's already on edge as is," George says. "We don't need you panicking, too."

"Just let me go, then. I won't be here to distract you anymore."

"Harry said to Stun you if need be," Fred says.

He's bluffing, right? Harry wouldn't…

"Are you really going to force us to do that to you?" he finishes.

"You don't understand. I have to—"

But an explosion from the grounds interrupts me, and all four of us rush to the window, looking outside worriedly. There's a large puff of smoke in one area over the grounds, and jets of light fly out of it sporadically, indicating that at least two people are dueling.

"Who could that be?" Ginny asks.

"Not a Death Eater—they're on the grounds already," Fred observes.

Taking advantage of the distraction, I rush toward the exit and hear one of the twins—probably Fred—curse. I make it down the hall and race for the stairs, all the while hearing their footsteps behind me. As I move through the castle, I note that most people in the castle actually didn't hear the explosion. Only the ones closer to our side heard—some of them are gathered by the windows, watching nervously.

I get out to the grounds and head toward the fight. The smoke has cleared, and I see that Daphne Greengrass is there, defending herself against Terry and Charlie. Blaise is lying on the ground a few feet away, and a small group of former students are moving in the same direction as I am—toward the fight.

I run straight for Blaise, who's on the ground. Greengrass casts a spell at me, but I block it and drop to my knees beside Blaise.

"Stop fighting! Stop it!" I shout.

Charlie stops and lunges to the side to hold Terry's wand arm to the side. Greengrass' wand is still up, and she's clearly poised to strike.

"What happened to him?" I ask her.

"I don't know. The Dark Lord hit him with a spell that I didn't recognize," the blonde replies.

I immediately flick my wand to lift Blaise up. "Follow me inside," I tell her.

"Hey—" Terry begins.

"Fred, George, watch her and make sure she doesn't act up," I say to the twins, who arrived shortly after I did.

I rush back toward the castle—if Voldemort aimed a spell at Blaise, it can't be anything good. I hear Greengrass' footsteps close behind me.

"How long has it been?" I ask.

"No more than three minutes."

If his aorta, or any other major blood vessel, was severed, then he'll have bled out already. I pray that the spell Voldemort used wasn't the one that Bellatrix had used on me.

Flanked by Greengrass, Fred, and George, I reach the hospital wing and call out for Madam Pomfrey. She appears almost instantly and ushers us out of the room before getting to work on Blaise.

"What are you doing here, Greengrass?" Fred asks.

I start to sneak down the hallway, but George snatches my hand, and I look up at him exasperatedly.

"Doing a favor," Greengrass responds.

"Do you know where Draco is?" I ask her.

Fred and George both stare at me, and I realize that they have no idea what's happened between Draco and me. I don't want to explain, so I don't acknowledge them.

"He…"

Her voice fades, and my heart sinks.

Then she frowns. "What's it to you?" she asks.

"Never mind. Tell me how you got to Blaise—were you the one who told him where he was?"

"You—" she begins, surprised. Then she asks, "How much do you know?"

I groan. Way to make things complicated. I'm going to throttle Draco when he gets back. "The favor you mentioned—Draco asked it of you, right?"

Greengrass nods. Fred, George, and Ginny are looking back and forth between us. They aren't following, but they seem to trust that I will explain everything to them later.

"Only Death Eaters can open prison cells," I say. "You're not a Death Eater because you crossed our boundary, so how did you get to Blaise?"

I have a sinking feeling that I'm not going to like the answer.

"Draco opened the door himself," Greengrass says quietly.

I close my eyes. "And if he's not back right now, that means he's…"

"I'm sorry," she says.

I take a deep breath and open my eyes to look at her. "Do you have any way of finding out—"

She shakes her head before I finish asking my question. "It was already a huge, huge stretch to get to Blaise, and he's not even top priority. Draco's betrayal… the Dark Lord won't let him get away with it. Not now that he's in his grasp."

"There has to be _something_."

Finally, George speaks. "Hermione… why are you so concerned for Malfoy?"

"Shut up," Ginny says. "I'll explain it to you later."

So maybe Ginny's heard that it was a Love Potion. That's a relief.

"I'm sorry, Granger," Greengrass says. "He's not coming back. He acted really confident about getting back safely, but we have to be realistic."

I swallow hard. "Let's make sure Blaise is okay. Um… where's Harry?"

"We already told you—he left to take care of the Horcrux," Ginny replies.

I nod. "Okay. We'll just… wait for him to come back, for now. I'm gonna go for a walk."

"Don't you think that's just a smidge too obvious, Hermione? We're not oblivious," George says.

He still hasn't released my hand, and when I try to take a step farther down the hall, he tightens his grip and pulls me back.

"I won't go anywhere," I say.

"Well, not without us, you won't," Fred says.

"You two should keep an eye on Greengrass, make sure she isn't—"

"We could just take her with us," Fred says. "You're just going out to stretch your legs anyway, right?"

I sigh. "Fine, I won't go anywhere," I say, giving up for the time being. I conjure myself a chair and take a seat.

"I think we've pissed her off, we have," George comments.

"Oh dear, will she ever forgive us?"

"Knock it off, you two," Ginny says, moving over to me. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

I'm trying to think of something I could do for Draco. There _has_ to be something. But even if I know he's in Dartmoor—which I can't even be sure of, because Voldemort could easily have moved him by now—I don't know exactly where the camp is located. I would need someone to lead me there…

I glance over at Greengrass, who's just staring at the door to the hospital wing. Maybe she'd be able to take me. But we'd have to get past Fred and George first.

George conjures a chair and sits beside me. He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I look over at him.

"I don't know what's going on between you and Malfoy, but I'm sorry you've got to worry about him," he says.

George was always the more sensitive of the two.

"If you guys would just let me go…"

"Harry said it was really important that you didn't go anywhere," Fred says.

So is Harry in on it, too? Why would Draco tell Harry and not me?

I let my head fall into my hands, and George pats my back gently.

* * *

About half an hour later, a very disgruntled Madam Pomfrey throws open the doors to the ward, and all of us look in her direction.

"He insists on speaking with you, or he won't take anymore treatment," the nurse says.

"He's probably talking about you, Hermione," Fred says.

"He wants Miss Greengrass," Madam Pomfrey clarifies.

Greengrass heads for the door, and then I hear Blaise's voice.

"Hermione?"

"You too, then, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey says.

I get to my feet and follow Greengrass into the ward. Madam Pomfrey shuts the doors and bustles back to Blaise's bedside.

I notice that the curtains are drawn around a cot on the other side of the ward—I hadn't paid attention when I was in the hospital wing earlier, mostly because I just wanted to get out. But it's not Lupin. Fred told me that Madam Pomfrey allowed him to move out to Tonks' room, in Hufflepuff Basement.

Then Blaise's voice catches my attention, and I look over at him.

"Hermione, I—"

He cuts himself off with a hiss, shutting his eyes. Madam Pomfrey is applying a gooey substance to his bare chest, and I take a few steps closer to the cot.

"How are you feeling?" I ask.

"Fine," he says.

The nurse snorts. "If this is fine, then death is just a bad hair day."

Blaise ignores her and says, "Daphne?"

"I'm here," Greengrass says.

"Does anyone know you're involved?" Blaise asks, wincing as Madam Pomfrey slathers more of the paste on.

"What happened to him?" I ask when Greengrass doesn't respond.

"He—"

"Not important," Blaise interrupts. "Daphne, answer me."

"No," she says. "Just the people here, and Draco himself."

"Then your family should be fine."

Greengrass nods, and when I look in her direction, I notice that her eyes have welled up.

"Can… can I talk to him without you here?" she asks me.

I start backing away, toward the exit.

"No—don't go anywhere," Blaise says.

"It's okay," I say. "I'll just—"

"Humor him," Madam Pomfrey says. "If he gets stubborn with the medicine again, I'll have to Stun him. And that won't be good for him."

I stand there awkwardly, looking between Greengrass and Blaise.

"It's been too long," Greengrass says softly.

"It's been a while," Blaise agrees.

Greengrass moves over to the cot slowly.

"Don't distract me," Madam Pomfrey warns.

"Can you just tell us what happened to him?" I ask her.

"There appears to be a kind of creature inside him—I've restricted its motion to his abdomen."

Blaise sighs.

"How is the paste going to help, then?" Greengrass asks.

"The important ingredients seep in through the skin to kill the creature."

I shudder. "What kind of creature is it? A snake?"

"Similar."

"I don't feel it much," Blaise says.

"You have a decent poker face, Mr. Zabini, but I know you feel all of it. Don't lie to these young ladies," Madam Pomfrey says.

"Would it help for him to be unconscious?" I ask.

"Not much. He'll either dream of being in pain, or the pain will wake him up."

At these words, we fall silent.

"Hermione…" Blaise says, "don't worry too much about Draco."

"How can I not—"

"He wouldn't step into a trap without a plan to get out of it."

"I don't care what he's planning. Plans go wrong all the time."

"Draco has really good luck."

"He can't just bank on being lucky," I say, sitting down on the next cot. I let my head fall into my hands and groan. "I can't even do anything to help him, not without finding out where he is."

"Hermione, just—"

"Greengrass," I say, looking up. "Could you—"

"Do you think they'd let me go anywhere?" she asks, gesturing toward the doors. Then she adds, "On second thought, would they even let _you_ go?"

"I could use a Disillusionment Charm, and you could—"

"Don't, Hermione," Blaise interrupts me. "If you show up, you'll just distract him."

"They've also probably moved him by now. The Dark Lord knows that Blaise knows where he was."

"There has to be _someone_ we can go to. I don't believe that the Death Eaters don't have a weak link," I say.

Greengrass only shakes her head.

"Who is keeping you from leaving?" Blaise asks me.

"Fred, George, and Ginny."

"Why?"

"Harry said not to let me leave. It makes me think that he's in on whatever Draco's planning."

"It's not impossible," Blaise says. "But it's not very likely that Draco would share ideas with Harry."

I sigh.

Then Greengrass asks, "Are you in love with him?"

"No. I just… I'm really worried about him," I reply, taken aback.

I hadn't ever expected Greengrass to be so straightforward.

"No need to spare my feelings, Hermione," Blaise says. "You can tell the truth."

"That _is_ the truth," I insist.

"Always in denial, aren't you?" Blaise says softly.

Greengrass looks between Blaise and me with an inscrutable expression, and I wonder what's on her mind. "Blaise," she says to get his attention.

His eyes shift in her direction, and he winces as Madam Pomfrey starts rubbing the paste away with a damp cloth.

"I did get what I deserved, in the end," he says.

Her eyes tighten. "I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did. And you were right."

I sense that this is a private conversation and get to my feet. "I can leave," I offer.

"Don't. This isn't a secret," Blaise says.

And it isn't. I'd heard about Blaise's conquests during school, the most famous of which was Daphne Greengrass. He'd spent months wooing her in sixth year, the longest he'd ever spent on a single person, possibly because she'd been completely uninterested in him.

But of course, once she consented to dating him, they were together for about two weeks before he left her.

"Can we talk later, Blaise?" Greengrass asks. "You need to rest."

"I'm fine," Blaise says.

Then Madam Pomfrey gets to her feet. "The pain will last overnight," she says. "At the very worst, it'll last until noon. If you're still in pain at that point, we'll be in trouble. I'll remove the creature in the morning—it's too early to go in right now."

Blaise nods.

"You two girls should leave now," the nurse says to us. "Let him rest."

"Just a few more minutes," Blaise says before either of us can speak.

"Fine. It's your health, not mine," Madam Pomfrey huffs.

She leaves the ward and closes the door to her office.

"Hermione," Blaise says, "if I were you, I'd try to get to Draco's house. Harry might be there, and you'll be able to talk to him. If anyone can convince him to talk, it'll be you."

"I just… they don't even want me to leave the castle," I say.

"Then take… but shit, they can't get in. Fidelius Charm," Blaise realizes.

"I guess I could take Ginny."

He nods. "I'd go myself, but—"

"I wouldn't let you. Not when you're like this," I say. Then I turn and head for the exit—I have to start moving, or I'm pretty sure I'll go insane with worry.

"Just promise me something," Blaise says.

I turn back to look at him as I reach the doorway.

"Don't put yourself in danger needlessly," he says.

"I'll be the judge of that."

He lowers his voice. "Please, Hermione."

I nod. "All right, I'll be careful."

With that, I walk out of the room.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm aware that this chapter wasn't quite so exciting. Sorry about that! Anyway, I'm really curious to hear what you guys think will happen next. But just to let you know, I've already written out the next few chapters, so what you guys say most likely won't change the direction this is going in.

Thanks for reading! :)


	90. Chapter 90 H

**Author's Note:** Happy Veteran's Day!

Today, Jay released a new album. So I'm excited beyond belief to get it. You guys probably have no clue who he is… but he's my favorite artist ever. I'd say singer, because that's what he's most well-known for, but he does _everything_—songwriting, acting, directing, scripting… so awesome, so talented. I saw him live this January… most exciting day ever!

But anyway, enough of that. Here is the next installment of _Turncoat_. I'm kind of bummed, because we're getting sort of close to the ending. I haven't finished writing yet, so there's a chance it might extend a while longer, but… aww, I'm gonna be sad when this is over.

**Chapter 90**

"What did he have to tell you?" Fred asks as soon as the door falls shut behind me.

"Not much. Look, I'm going to Draco's to see if I can find Harry. You guys can't come with me because of the Fidelius Charm, but I can take Ginny because she's been there before. _Please_ don't stop me."

Fred and George exchange glances, and I hold back a sigh.

"I won't hesitate to fight you," I add.

They both turn to look at me, brows raised.

"Does Malfoy really mean that much to you?" George asks.

I glance at Ginny. "You told them, then?"

She nods. "And Harry told me what Ron did to you, so I told them about that, too."

"Yeah, sorry about our brother, Hermione," George says.

"He's turned into a bit of a wanker, hasn't he?" Fred adds.

George nods. "A right foul git, he is."

"Can I go, then?" I ask impatiently—I feel like I've already wasted far too much time here.

"Take Ginny," Fred says.

"Yes, she's better than nothing," George quips.

"Hey! I'm far from useless, and I'll prove it if you piss me off," Ginny says.

Fred laughs and gestures for us to leave.

"Go on, then," George says, voicing his twin's sentiment.

I nod and turn away. I walk briskly to the end of the hallway and start going down the stairs without bothering to check whether or not Ginny is following—I'm sure that the twins will send her after me soon, anyway.

She catches up with me as I reach the large double doors, and we exit the castle together. As we stride across the grounds, she speaks.

"Harry never mentioned what exactly happened to my _darling_ brother after you found out. Care to share?"

"I left him hanging from a wall in Draco's kitchen."

"That's _it?_ The bastard poisoned you, Hermione!"

"That _bastard_ is still your brother," I remind her.

"Yes, of course, but he poisoned you!"

"I've had more important things to deal with," I say.

"It's all right, then. Leave the punishment to me," she says.

Then she laughs almost evilly, and I begin to wonder if she's enjoying this too much. Ron can't have been _that_ horrible to her.

"And Mum," she says. "Oh, he's going to wish he'd never been _born_."

I only shake my head.

"Granger! Wait!"

I turn to see Greengrass running toward me, followed closely by the twins.

"What is it?" I ask.

She reaches me quickly and asks, "Can I have a private word with you?"

I gesture toward the boundary. "I sort of wanted to—"

"Just one minute. Please."

I nod warily and lead the way away from the Weasleys. Fred and George stop running when they reach Ginny, and all three of them glance in our direction, looking slightly worried. I give them a reassuring smile before walking a bit quicker to put some distance between us.

Finally, when we're out of earshot, I ask her what this is about.

"Draco… he knew he was going to be captured when he went to save Blaise," she says.

I frown. "I thought we already—"

"My point is… he knew ahead of time that Blaise would be captured, and he was able to pull off a rescue. He also knew ahead of time about his own capture, so that makes it seem as though he'll have secured an escape route for himself. But we don't know—"

"Look, I don't like to look for the double meaning behind everything that you say, and I don't plan on guessing your thoughts before you get to them. Can you skip straight to the point and be done with it?"

"All I'm trying to say is…" her voice fades, and then she sighs. "Did you see Blaise's face when he saw how concerned you were for Draco?"

"Yes."

"I wish I could tell you not to worry so much. Blaise… he _really_ likes you. I haven't seen him look at _anyone_ the way he looks at you."

"I already feel guilty. What are you trying to accomplish by telling me this?" I ask.

"I understand that you seem to be… involved with Draco. But Draco… he has problems. Problems with emotions, trust, the way he treats people in general, and I just—"

"You want me to consider Blaise instead?" I ask, trying to keep the incredulity out of my voice.

She doesn't respond.

"I thought you liked him," I say.

"I do," she says, and her voice is heavy. "But I know very well that he doesn't feel anything for me. All I want is for him to be happy. And if you're the only one who'll make him happy, then—"

"No. The answer is no."

"Granger, I—"

"No," I say firmly. "Blaise is one of my closest friends, but I can never feel that way toward him. Draco… I know that it'll be difficult, but I'm going to fight for him."

Greengrass shakes her head. "He'll never let you in, Granger. It's not in his nature."

The words seem to pierce me in the heart—_please_ don't let them be the truth.

"I always liked challenges," I say, not letting the effect of her words show.

"Very well, then," she says softly. "Don't tell me I didn't warn you."

"I won't."

She turns away and starts to walk back toward the Weasleys.

"If you want Blaise to be happy so badly, why don't you try it yourself?" I ask her.

She stops walking but doesn't turn to face me. "Because he doesn't love me. If I insist on being with him and he accepts, then his life will turn into an act. He'll pretend to be happy, just so that he won't hurt me the way he did last time."

"Then confront him about it," I say, walking around her so that I can see her face. "Don't walk on eggshells around him. No one only falls in love once."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Granger. When one of us gets the strength—or is forced—to admit that we love someone, it won't change. It hasn't changed for me, and I don't think it'll change for him, either," Greengrass says.

"Nothing's that permanent—"

"What a _Gryffindor_ perspective. You're always so optimistic, thinking you can save us, save your friends, save the whole goddamn _world_ with your crazy antics. But the world isn't yours to save. So what if you finally kill the Dark Lord? Death Eaters around the world won't just disappear. The killings won't just stop."

That isn't entirely relevant to our conversation, but her extremely skewed take on our perspective has me incensed, and I grit my teeth. We're not _stupid_. The violence obviously won't go away entirely just because Voldemort's gone. But he's the root of the problem, isn't he? Without their leader, the hordes of Death Eaters will be so much less intimidating.

"What does that have to do with you and Blaise?" I ask, keeping my temper in check. I don't have _time_ to have a dispute with her about this.

"Nothing," she snaps. She draws a deep breath. "I was just getting frustrated with… well, you."

"Oh, thanks."

"I don't know how you can look at situations through such a positive lens. I could never."

"You could if you tried. Now I'm going to go find Harry. Stay with Fred and George, okay?"

She nods, and we make our way back to the three redheads.

"Is everything all right?" George asks.

I nod. "Don't let anyone attack her, okay? She won't be hurting anyone."

"What do we look like, bodyguards?" Fred says.

"Yes. For the next few hours, you'll be bodyguards."

George sighs. "Fantastic. In Hermione's eyes, we're no better than common goons."

"Barely a step above Crabbe and Goyle," Fred agrees.

"That hurts our feelings, it does," George says.

"Shut up, you two," Ginny says, rolling her eyes. "Come on, Hermione. Let's go."

We continue our walk toward the boundary. When I turn back, I see the twins leaving with Greengrass.

"What did she say to you?" Ginny asks me.

"It doesn't really concern you. I'd rather not say."

I understand how difficult it is for a Slytherin to open up about his or her feelings, and I shouldn't make light of the fact that she confessed her emotions for Blaise to me.

"Is she still… does she still like Zabini? I mean, with everything that happened in school—"

"Ginny, don't ask," I say. "It isn't good to be so nosy. It's her personal life."

"So she _does_ still have feelings for him…" Ginny guesses. "Damn! I wouldn't feel anything for a schmuck who did what he did. I'd probably give him a nice, good smack."

"Don't talk about things that you don't understand."

Ginny bristles at my statement. "Don't talk down to me, Hermione. I'm not as smart as you are, but I'm not stupid, either."

"But you clearly don't understand what you're talking about."

"Of course—"

"What if Harry did that to you?"

"He wouldn't—"

"Yes, I know. But what if he did?"

Ginny falls silent.

"See my point?" I say as we reach the boundary. "Now let's get out of here."

We Disapparate together and appear in Draco's living room. I look around and immediately note that no one's here.

"Check the guest room. I'll see if anyone's in Draco's room," I tell her.

I pull open the door to Draco's room and take a step inside. It's empty, and I turn back around just as Ginny calls for me.

"Harry's in here!" she says.

I move over to the guest room and see Harry lying in bed.

"It looks like he's… sleeping," Ginny says.

I step closer and sit on the side of the bed, giving him a gentle shove. There's no response.

"Harry?" I say, shaking him a little harder.

"You don't think he's hurt, do you?" Ginny asks. She sounds a bit nervous.

I shake my head. "If he was with Draco, then he should be fine…"

"What if Malfoy was the one who did this to him? What if he's going to turn him in—"

"Ginny, stop it _right_ there. I won't let you question his motives like that."

"So defensive."

I run through a few quick spells to check on Harry's health, and everything appears to be in order. But he's just… not conscious. Why?

"He's reminding me a lot of what you were like when you went under," Ginny comments. "You wouldn't respond to anything we said."

Oh, shit.

Now I understand why Harry was asking about whether or not he should trust Draco—at the time, I'd been too distracted by the arrival of the Death Eaters to put much thought into it.

Oh, god… he wouldn't really die for Harry, would he? I know that he'd do anything for me and that he knows how much I want this war to be over, but surely he won't… he won't let himself die just for that, will he? I'd much rather have another few years together with him, fighting the war, than lose him right now.

And sure enough, he chose not to tell me what he was going to do. If he dies… I won't have a chance to really say goodbye to him.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Ginny asks.

I realize that my eyes are welling up and blink a few times, rapidly. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Do you know what's wrong with Harry, then?"

"He's going to be fine," I say, sitting down on Blaise's bed.

"Do you know something that I don't know? Does it have to do with Malfoy?" Ginny asks.

I shake my head. "I… I have to think."

"Can I do anything to help?"

"Just stay with Harry. He'll wake up eventually. I have to…" I let my voice fade.

Then I get to my feet and move into the living room, closing the door to the guest room behind me. I have an idea of what to do.

"Naree!"

The small house-elf doesn't appear, and I feel discouraged. Did Draco think of this already? Was he so sure that I would try asking Naree for help?

Almost a full minute later, Naree appears with a loud crack.

"Miss Granger," he says in greeting.

"Hello, Naree," I reply. "Do you know where Draco is?"

He shakes his head.

"But if I asked you to find him, could you do it?"

"Miss Granger…" he begins uneasily.

"Could you take me to him?" I ask. "He's in danger—you don't want your master to die, do you?"

Naree shakes his head furiously.

"Then take me to him. I can help him. Please, believe me."

The small house-elf hesitates for a long moment, fixing his large eyes on mine, but I refuse to waver. He _has_ to take me.

Then his long fingers wrap around my wrist, and we Disapparate.

We appear in the middle of a stretch of woods, and I look around, alert. Where are we?

Where is Draco?


	91. Chapter 91 D

**Author's Note:** I am soooo exhausted. Last night I got about two hours of sleep, and the night before, I only got three. Blegh. I have my last midterm of the semester tomorrow, and then I'm free of tests until finals! Thank goodness.

If you're a bit confused by the beginning of this chapter, that's okay. It should hopefully start making sense after the first segment. If not… I suppose I could include a little explanation at the end of the chapter.

**Chapter 91**

"While they're figuring that out, I have a proposition for you."

Potter nods. "Sure."

"The prophecy says that you have to be the one who kills Voldemort. But they never said anything about _how_ you would have to do it."

"What are you getting at?"

"If you killed him by someone else's hand, it'd still count, wouldn't it?"

He watches me, frowning. "You're… are you volunteering yourself for this, Malfoy?"

I nod. "You'll get nice and close to him without ever truly being that close to him."

"Communimency, still?" Potter asks, glancing at Blaise.

Blaise's eyes are shut, and I wonder what they're doing—they're clearly distracted, which is the only reason why I decided to bring this up.

"Yes."

"Your mind is really highly trained," he says. "Can I trust you not to give me up to Voldemort?"

"Whether or not you trust me isn't my concern. But you're right. I'm trained. You won't be able to control my actions until I allow you to, and you will not see my thoughts unless I want you to," I tell him.

"Then if you chose to corner my consciousness and allowed Voldemort to kill you, would that leave me brain-dead?" Potter asks.

"Very good, Potter. You've done your research."

"So you're capable of doing that."

I nod. "But once I give you control, I'll make sure you can see all capabilities available to you. Even if you don't understand how something works, my body will carry out your intention automatically, as soon as you make your intention clear. I'll help you along if you struggle, but it's a bit too distracting to fit two consciousnesses in one head during a fight. I'll stay out of your way as much as possible."

"I have to think about it," he says.

"Fair enough," I say to him. "When I drop off Longbottom at the castle, I'll have a Horcrux with me. If you accept my offer, come back here with me. If not, ask to take it into the castle."

Potter nods. "All right, then," he says.

I know he'll do it. His brow is furrowed as he considers the offer, but he wants this war to end. He'll take this chance—I'm counting on it. But even if he doesn't… I could still take a shot at Voldemort, anyway. Fuck the prophecy.

Then he waves his hand in front of Blaise's face, checking to see if they're back on earth again.

"Give them some more time," I advise him. "It takes a while to get used to."

He frowns at me, and I know that he's thinking about what it'll be like if he decides to step into my head. I don't particularly like the idea of having him in my head either, but at least I'll be able to control what he can see…

* * *

_What the fuck are you doing?_ I demand.

Immediately I push Potter's consciousness away, drawing the walls up around my thoughts and memories.

_It's boring in here, waiting for you to wake up_, Potter says.

I sigh. _I needed to sleep. You don't want to be stuck in a drained body, do you?_

_How did you do that earlier?_ he asks me.

_Do what?_

_I've never heard of throwing off the Torture Curse, only blocking it._

_Will power,_ I say.

Potter is clearly surprised—I can feel the response moving toward me in waves.

_Did you think there was a secret to it?_ I ask.

_Yes._

_Well, there's no secret to resisting the Imperius Curse, is there?_

_Right._

Silence. I sort out my thoughts and wonder what else he might have looked at—I can't remember "dreaming" of anything else, but it's completely possible that my unconscious brain just doesn't recall everything that Potter went through. I shift uncomfortably.

_I would never have thought that I'd end up here with you_, Potter comments. _I always faced him alone, or with Ron and Hermione. But you…_

_You'll have less to lose, this time. If it comes to the point where you'll lose and I'll die, I'll make sure you're out of my head first._

_Don't be ridiculous, Malfoy_, Potter says. _You can't choose when you're going to die._

_I'll do my best._

_So… how exactly is this going to work? How are you going to get him to duel us alone?_

_I have it worked out. Don't think about it._

_I'm just… it's hard to believe that you can really accomplish so much. I keep thinking that you won't be able to pull it off, but you somehow manage to. I thought that you wouldn't be able to bring back Neville's dad. I thought you wouldn't be able to rescue Blaise. But it's all gone just the way you wanted it to, hasn't it? Even down to being captured and imprisoned here._

_I've had an excellent streak of luck. Let's hope it lasts long enough to kill him._

_Yes, hopefully._

Then Aunt Bella appears at the door and sees that I'm awake.

"Why were you so stupid?" she hisses.

I watch her wordlessly, waiting for her to continue.

"Cissy _died_ to save you. You should never have come back."

"I had no choice. He forced me."

She shakes her head. "All this for a Mudblood. She ruined our family, forever."

I glare at her. My choices may have been influenced by my feelings for Hermione, but Aunt Bella can't just pin the blame for Mother's death on her.

But her eyes have softened, and I wait for her to speak.

"In all likelihood, you won't feel anything anymore, and this won't matter when the Dark Lord is finished with you. But Draco, I want you to remember who you are, and who I am. Don't forget that I'm your aunt," she says.

"You were the one who said I was as dead as Mother, to you," I say.

As I remember her words, the same sting flares strong in my chest. I'm thankful that the barrier between Potter's consciousness and mine will keep my emotions hidden from him. I don't need him knowing any more about my life.

She stiffens at my reminder. "So I did. Well… I lied."

It's silent for a long moment.

"Besides Cissy, I've only loved two people, over the course of my life. One of them, I tortured to insanity. The other…"

She pauses and meets my eyes.

Then she says, "You've always been like a son to me, Draco. And today, I will have to watch as you are torn into pieces and put back together again."

Her voice wavers slightly as she finishes speaking.

"Why are you telling me this?"

My aunt blinks, and a tear slides from the corner of her eye. She lifts a hand to wipe it away and answers, "Because you won't remember any of this, by the time the Dark Lord is finished. I'll be grateful if you just remember my name."

This can't be happening. Aunt Bella always doted on me, in her own way, but I'd always assumed that it was because I was favored by the Dark Lord. To think that she truly cared for me, that she actually felt like I was a son to her…

"Do you remember the question you wanted to ask when I set you free?" she says.

"I asked why you were saving me," I say. "Dark Lord first, family second."

Anguish is apparent on her face as she finally confesses, "When it came to you and Cissy… it was always going to be family first, if I could help it."

I swallow hard. In this moment, despite the profound sorrow on her face—or maybe _because_ of that sorrow—she looks more beautiful than I've ever seen her before. Is this woman standing on the other side of the bars still Aunt Bella?

But in an instant, the emotion disappears from her face, and I'm faced with Bellatrix Lestrange again.

"It is time. The Dark Lord is expecting us," she says tersely.

I get to my feet and walk toward the door. It's pointless to put on a show of resisting.

The cell door opens, and her cold fingers wrap around my forearm. My eyes flit to hers at the familiar touch, but her face is as impassive as before. She shuts her eyes, and we Disapparate.

We appear in the antechamber to the room in which Voldemort usually holds his meetings. She casts a Disillusionment Charm over me and throws open the doors. I can _feel_ Potter's anxiety as we're led into the room. She sits me down in a chair, facing the Dark Lord's table. I'm left unbound, and I thank Merlin for Voldemort's unfailing arrogance.

_Bloody… Malfoy, was all that from Bellatrix… was it real?_ Potter asks.

_Yes._

_I had no idea…_

_That she might have emotions?_

Potter doesn't reply to this.

_Even Voldemort was human once, Potter._

Clearly uncomfortable with the turn in our mental conversation, Potter asks, _Why is Voldemort doing this?_

_He made a huge deal out of my defection by sending everyone to Hogwarts, just to retrieve me. Naturally, he wants to display the punishment that I'll be receiving for betraying him._

_Will you be all right?_

_I can take anything he can dish._

_What if it's not the Cruciatus? What if it's real physical torture?_

_Can't hurt any worse than the Cruciatus Curse_, I reason. _There's a reason why it's called the Torture Curse._

Then Voldemort appears at the head of the table. I expect to feel more uneasiness emanating from Potter, but if he's feeling insecure, he's hiding it rather well.

_I'm going to take down the wall between our consciousnesses, so that you can get a feel for my body before the fight, and so that I'll be able to shield you from his view if he tries to get into my head_, I inform him. _But I'm going to have to ask you to keep your mouth shut. Don't distract me._

_Understood._

I slowly remove the barrier, flinching at the foreign presence in my mind. I _hate_ that Potter has access to my thoughts, but there isn't much to be done at this point.

_Sorry_, he says.

_I thought I told you to shut up_.

There's no response.

Then I become aware that Voldemort is already speaking.

"It has not been long since we last met. And I'm sure you've already heard why we are gathering so late this evening."

He waves his hand, and I become visible.

I'm painfully aware of Potter's presence—he's testing out very small motions. He flexes my fingers, and I try to ignore the fact that my body is moving without instructions from me.

Meanwhile, the Death Eaters in the room are all whispering.

Voldemort stands, and they quiet down.

"How many of you remember Oliver Wood?"

Dead silence.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yeah, I know that this wasn't a nice place to end the chapter. I'd change it, but I'm too tired right now to shift everything around…

Anyway, the beginning of the chapter (for anyone who might be confused) is what happened while Hermione and Blaise were testing out Communimency. Draco and Harry's conversation took place while Hermione and Blaise were busy reliving that moment in Draco's kitchen.

Sigh, I don't want this story to end :/


	92. Chapter 92 D

**Author's Note:** I'm in a sort of unhappy mood because I'm stuck here, unable to go home for Thanksgiving… rather saddening. But I figured I should still post, since it's been a little while since my last update. So this is my treat for you guys. Happy Thanksgiving!

**Chapter 92**

"I imagine most of you do. Well, tonight, I have an even better show in store for you," the Dark Lord says. Then he turns to face me. "But before we get started on the main course, we have a few… appetizers."

Voldemort motions to Mulciber, who leaves and returns with a line of twelve people, all with bags over their heads. They're chained together, and Mulciber walks quickly, forcing them to keep up. He stops abruptly and laughs when they crash into each other.

He removes the first bag, and Potter reacts with a start. I force his outburst down—he'd wanted to call out her name.

_It's not really her, you twit_, I tell him. _Don't believe everything you see, when it comes to Voldemort. Haven't you learned from losing your godfather?_

I can tell that he's itching to retort—I can feel his frustration.

_Control yourself_, I say. _It won't do to give up the plan over this. It's just the beginning._

Fake Hermione screams as Mulciber begins to use the Torture Curse on her. I keep my eyes on her calmly, not allowing Potter to take control over me. I won't let Voldemort have the satisfaction of seeing the effect that this has on me.

_How can you do this?_ Potter asks, trying as best as he can to shut my eyes.

_It isn't her._

_But it looks just like her._

_Thank you, Captain Obvious._

Then Voldemort stops Mulciber and brings the girl to me. He turns her to face the crowd of Death Eaters.

"You all recognize her face, the face of this vermin who is so loyal to the _famous_ Harry Potter," he says. "She was the one who was released from Dartmoor, the escape for which Draco was tried last time."

Even though I try to suppress them, the memories from last time stubbornly rise to the surface. I remember the initial shock at seeing her face, the realization that she wasn't Hermione, the blank look in her eyes after she'd fallen to the ground, dead.

_How… how could you?_ Potter asks.

I'm shaking slightly, and I realize that it's because _he_ is shaking.

I had to do it. He can't blame me for it. I would have died, and we wouldn't be where we are now.

"The real Hermione Granger has proven to be… rather elusive," Voldemort continues. "So, like last time, a substitute will have to do. Now, who would like to have a hand in torturing her?"

He looks around the room. Some brave souls are actually stepping forward, and the Dark Lord smiles wickedly, signaling to Mulciber.

"Excellent," he says. "Release the others as well. I think we'll have need of all of them."

_He can't be serious._

_Can you not keep your thoughts to yourself, Potter?_ I snap.

Then Voldemort's in front of me again. "Let's remind this traitor of how Mudbloods _should_ be treated," he sneers.

Then he leans closer, lowering his voice so that only I can hear him.

"Watch closely and remember this well," he says. "You'll be doing it yourself to the _real_ Hermione Granger, no later than tomorrow morning."

Several screams sound out, and I decide not to let this get any farther.

And with all the people suddenly crowding the elevated space, this is the ideal moment to act.

As Voldemort starts to turn away, I look in Rowle's direction pointedly, and the man stands up. I lock eyes with Aunt Bella for a split second, and I realize that she looks suspicious.

My nerves are fired up, and Potter's anxiety isn't helping.

I take a deep breath.

Then a silver orb is soaring through the air toward Voldemort's back. I leap out of the chair as Voldemort whips around. I grab his arm and stretch my other hand out for the orb.

Cries of surprise fill my ears, and I briefly see a jet of light flying in Rowle's direction.

Then my hand closes around the cool, round ball, and I'm tugged rapidly through space, keeping a tight grip on Voldemort's arm.

We land in a small clearing, and I drop the now-useless Portkey to the forest floor.

Voldemort looks around. "Interesting, Draco. Interesting, indeed. Just what did you intend to accomplish by isolating us?"

"I will never work for you again," I say. "So if you're not planning to kill me, then I'm just going to have to kill you."

He looks at me for a moment, as though expecting me to declare that I was just joking. Then he laughs coldly. "Do you think you can defeat me, boy?"

"I'll give it my best shot."

_I'll start off_, I tell Potter. _Feel the motions, and familiarize yourself with my skills._

I fire a Killing Curse at Voldemort, who sidesteps it with a grin.

"Did you really think I would make it that easy for you?"

"No, but it was worth a try."

A bright white ball of light flies in my direction, and I lunge to the side to avoid it, throwing two blasts of energy at him—they're just meant to propel opponents backwards.

Different-colored jets of light flash back and forth between us. I parry his spells and do my best to keep on the offensive, but it's difficult to stay ahead of his pace, and he steadily starts to decrease the time gap between his attacks.

It's clear that he doesn't intend on killing me—this is starting to feel more and more like just another practice session, especially since I'm always wandless during those, as well. Maybe I can use that to my advantage.

_What the fuck, Malfoy? You know a spell to turn someone's intestines inside-out?_

I duck a series of black pellet-looking objects, wondering what they are. Voldemort certainly hasn't taught me that one before.

_Haven't had to use that one yet_, I reply to Potter, retaliating with a few more Killing Curses. _Tested it once on a pig_.

Potter's clearly disgusted.

_I was apprentice to the Darkest wizard of all time. Intestines were the least of my concerns._

About two minutes into the duel, Voldemort is maintaining the same tempo for his attacks, alternating between spells to throw or hurt me. He still hasn't managed to touch me, but I haven't gotten close to him, either. He looks _entertained_.

Even though I haven't quite started to feel tired yet, I decide it'd be prudent to retrieve my wand. I Summon it from the ground—I'd told Rowle to bury it here after making the Portkey.

Voldemort pauses, and disappointment crosses his face. "Ah, Draco. You would have made an excellent Dark Lord, someone to take over during my absences. Shame."

I fire a stronger spell at him, helped by the familiar feeling of my wand in my hand. He deflects it easily.

_I'm ready_, Potter tells me.

_Are you sure?_

_Yes._

I dodge a jet of red light and am surprised that Voldemort would use a spell as elementary as a Stunning Spell. Then I relinquish control, and Potter takes over.

Our transition is fluid, and I watch nervously as my body moves without input from me. But Potter's apparently learned enough about my body—he seems to have adjusted to me alarmingly well.

When Potter increases the speed of his—my—our—attacks, I note that a slight frown appears on Voldemort's face. This is something that I wouldn't ordinarily do. Most of us in Slytherin prefer to wait for our opponents to tire out rather than get exhausted and vulnerable ourselves.

But Potter should know what he's doing. After all, he has to kill the Dark Lord—he should be the one in charge of the fight.

Suddenly, Voldemort's head twists to the right, as though he heard something.

Potter takes advantage of the distraction and fires several deadly spells in quick succession.

Somehow, Voldemort parries all of them and races right up to us, so fast that there isn't enough time to react, and we end up pinned against a tree, wandless. I know that astonishment—I can't even tell whether it's Potter's or mine anymore—is showing on my face.

"Did you really think I'd teach you all of my tricks?" Voldemort hisses. "Don't look so surprised."

I'm itching to take control over the fight, but I hold back. Potter reaches into my pocket ever so slowly and pulls out the pouch.

"Avada Kedavra!" shouts a voice extremely familiar to both of us.

Voldemort turns slightly toward the source of the spell. In that moment, Potter plunges my hand into the pouch, reaching around. I don't know what he's looking for.

The Dark Lord blocks the curse, and Potter pulls my hand back out of the pouch, something hard in my grip.

As Voldemort turns back to face us, Potter shoves a sword through his chest.

Bloody hell.

Voldemort looks down, a look of disbelief on his face, and seems to attempt to cast a spell on the sword.

"That's the Sword of Gryffindor," Potter says in my voice. "You won't be able to rid yourself of it _that_ easily."

"You—"

"Remarkable, isn't it, how quickly the venom of the Basilisk penetrates the body?" Potter says almost mockingly.

What the fuck is he talking about?

But Voldemort seems to be affected by the words—his eyes widen by a fraction. He staggers back a few steps, the grip on his wand loosening.

"Too bad Fawkes isn't around. Then again, I doubt he'd cry for _your_ demise," Potter continues.

The quickly weakening Dark Lord still manages to point his wand in our direction. Potter steps to the side, and a Killing Curse hits the tree behind us.

I snap the fingers on my left hand, Disarming Voldemort. His wand flies into my hand.

_What was that?_ Potter asks, a bit surprised.

_A handy trick_.

"Do you think you've won? Do you—" Voldemort starts.

"It's over, Tom Riddle," Potter says aloud. "We've destroyed your Horcruxes. You won't be coming back this time."

"That may be true, but this is far from over," Voldemort says. He falls to his knees but continues, "Do you think it'll be enough to kill me, Potter?"

"It certainly was enough last time, wasn't it? This time, you'll be gone for good. It's over."

Voldemort laughs maniacally, and the sight is repulsive. "It'll never be over, Potter. Never."

Potter takes a large step forward and pulls the Sword out of Voldemort's chest. He gasps, and blood starts leaking from the side of his mouth.

In a final wave of fury, Potter says, "This is for my parents."

Then he swings his arm fast, horizontally, slitting the Dark Lord's throat. Blood spurts profusely from the wound. Voldemort chokes, splutters, and finally collapses.

I stare at him for a long moment, hardly able to believe my eyes.

Dead.

Finally, he's dead.

It's over. It really is over.

"Draco… Harry…?"

Potter spins me around. "Hermione?" he says.

She races over and throws her arms around my neck. The transition of control from Potter back to me happens almost instantaneously, and in the next moment, I drop both sword and wand, wrapping my arms around her and crushing her to me.

I can't believe that it's really over.

_Erm… Malfoy? I'm still here_, Potter says as I maintain my hold on Hermione.

_I'm sure this hug is as directed toward you as it is toward me_, I reply.

She backs up slightly to look at me. "I can't believe you really did it—both of you," she says, smiling radiantly.

"I don't think we would have managed it without your distraction," I say.

_Definitely_, Potter agrees.

She only smiles in response.

"How'd you get here?" I ask.

She glances back, and I see Naree peeking timidly from behind a bush.

"Come out, Naree. I won't punish you," I tell him.

"Naree is so sorry, sir," he says, stepping more into view. "Naree didn't mean—"

"Don't apologize. You did well," I say.

"Harry, Draco, I'm so, so proud of you. Both of you."

_She's making me feel like a child in school_, Potter thinks.

I chuckle. _Same here._

"What? What did he say?" Hermione asks.

"He said thanks," I tell her.

She pouts. "Liar." Then she says, "Harry, Ginny is waiting for you at Draco's home. You should probably go back."

_I'm off, then_, Potter says.

I look down at the sword and wand that I'd dropped to the ground. _I want to talk to you, next time we have a chance_, I tell him_. But until then… good-bye._

_Bye_.

"He's going," I say. Then I look over at Naree. "Go on back to Rowle's and make sure Theo's okay."

He nods and Disapparates with a crack.

"What's wrong with Nott?"

"He should technically be fine," I say. "I had some separate orders for him."

I told him to alert the Order and to give them the location of the room in which Voldemort's meetings took place. He was also told to let them know about the Disapparition Jinx around the room—if they could seal all of the Death Eaters inside and use some sleeping gas to knock them out, that'd be ideal.

"Orders? Are you _ordering_ people around now, Draco?"

I grin. "I've always ordered people around."

She fixes her warm brown eyes on me, and for a moment, I forget about everything—all the schemes, concerns, and considerations fade to the back of my mind as I stare back at those perfect, compassionate eyes.

She steps a bit closer. "Is it just us, now?" she asks in an intimate voice, and I know she's asking me whether or not Potter's still around.

The tunnel's closed.

"Just us," I confirm.

She smiles and reaches up for me.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, moody-me is back. If you don't want to read a snippy author's note, I suggest you click away from the page now. Oh and could you leave a review? I think it'd make me feel a bit better. (Yes, I added this first bit as an afterthought after looking at my author's note a second time).

Upon rereading and rewriting some of this chapter, I'm now wondering if it was too anticlimactic. But I'm in no mood to fix it now, because I just found out that my sister _forgot_ about our plans for Thanksgiving away from home and decided to plan a road trip with her friends instead. So it'll be an even worse Thanksgiving break than I'd anticipated. Fuck.

Honestly I don't curse very often, but I think that sums up how I'm feeling right about now.


	93. Chapter 93 H

**Author's Note:** So this turned out to be a much longer chapter than I'd originally planned because I merged two chapters together… I guess I wanted to move the plot along a little bit more than the original Chapter 93 would have, haha. Hope you guys like it!

**Chapter 93**

I throw my hands up in the air, frustrated, and start to pace back and forth.

"Just _tell_ me, Draco. I won't feel better until you do."

We came back to his house to find that Harry and Ginny had both gone, so I'd tried to convince him to talk to me about his mother, about Russia.

Clearly, approaching him directly had been the wrong way to go about it.

"We just won the fucking war," he says. "It's over. It's done. Can't we save this talk for later?"

"But I—"

"I don't want to hear it," he says.

He snatches me by the shoulders and presses me back into the wall. Then his lips cover mine, and I shove hard against his chest. When it's clear that he won't budge, I turn my head to the side.

"We need to talk about this—"

"We've done enough talking," he growls before capturing my lips again.

I try to push him away again, but already my efforts are only half-hearted.

"All I want to do right now," he mumbles against my lips, "is fuck you. Over, and over, and over again, until both our brains turn to mush."

He thrusts his hips against mine as he finishes his speech, and I whimper.

Damn him, I don't _want_ to be distracted!

I realize that his hands have released me, caressing my sides instead. But I can't seem to force him away. His hands slide beneath my shirt, and his lips slide back until they're near my ear.

"Draco, no," I say a little breathlessly. "I really want to—"

I cut myself off with a gasp as he positions himself strategically and rocks his hips against mine again. I can feel the length of him pressing lightly into my seam, through our clothing, and I can't help but moan at the feeling.

My body is betraying me, caving in to his attentions.

I let him work my shirt off and thread my fingers in his hair, yanking his head back for a deep kiss. He groans in approval, and suddenly, both of us are desperate to rid each other of our clothes.

As we strip each other down, I feel almost as though I'm on autopilot, not _truly_ in control of my actions. I can feel the product of my arousal slipping down my inner thigh, and I hitch that leg up around his waist so that he'll be able to feel the hot liquid.

He groans in response and presses me back into the wall, lifting my other leg up as well. I wrap my legs around him, loving our proximity. His thick cock is pressing just slightly into me, and I start trying to lower myself onto him.

Suddenly, he releases my legs and backs up a step. I squeal but manage to catch my footing. I reach for him, but he grips my hips and turns me around, pushing me into the wall. Surprised and a little intimidated, I let out a small yelp.

His hot breath fans over the back of my ear as he murmurs, "Stick your arse out for me, Hermione. I'm going to take you from behind."

I freeze, unsure of what exactly he means by that.

When I don't respond to his command immediately, he nips my ear. Then his hands give a light tug on my hips, pulling me back a step. He places a palm flat on my back and pushes my torso forward. Flushing, I try to pull my hips forward, but he keeps a firm grip on me, holding me in position. I feel like I'm thrusting my arse back at him, and the position is slightly uncomfortable.

"Stay just like that," he says.

"But I—"

"Trust me."

Biting back the mortification, I hold still when Draco pulls his hands away from me, deciding to see what he'll do—if this is something sexual, then he's obviously more experienced with it than I am.

He pulls my hands up above my head, and thick ropes wrap around them, keeping them in place.

"Draco…" I say uneasily.

"Shh."

His hands run over the curve of my bum, and I begin to twist around in an attempt to look at him. One of his hands immediately comes up and presses my torso back against the wall with a gentle but firm touch.

His free hand cruises leisurely over my skin with the lightest of touches, slowly gliding up my side and then back down again. He takes a step closer but doesn't quite touch me, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body. Then his hand slides around my hip and moves downward.

I instinctively try to close my legs, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. His hand slides between my legs, and I feel his hot breath against my ear again.

"Don't fight me, Hermione."

Why does my name sound like such a sin coming from his lips?

I feel myself getting wet again despite how uncomfortable I am with this position. His fingers slowly start to stroke me, and I relax my legs slightly so that he can get a better angle.

"That's it," he murmurs.

His fingers slowly tease my folds without entering, and my legs quiver slightly.

"Has anyone touched you here before, apart from me?" he asks.

My cheeks feel as though they're on fire. He presses the tip of one finger into me, just until the first knuckle, and I whimper.

"Answer me."

"Only you," I say.

He makes a sound low in his throat that reminds me of the satisfied purr of something wild. Then he rewards me by sinking his whole finger into me, making me moan.

"You're soaking wet, Hermione. I've got your juices running down my hand. You like this, don't you?"

I bite my lip, trying to understand why it's such a turn-on for me to be in such a helpless position.

He slides a second finger into me, and I shudder.

"Fuck me, Draco. Just fuck me."

"You're not enjoying the attention?"

He pumps his fingers in and out of me agonizingly slowly, and I cry out in frustration.

"Do you think you could get yourself off, just like this?" he asks.

I flush again. "Stop it, Draco."

"Don't you want to admit that this is really turning you on?"

I suppress a moan at his words and realize what he's doing. I've read about dominant-submissive relationships before, but I'd always thought that I would like being in control. I never imagined that being completely in someone else's power could be so… arousing.

He shifts a bit closer to me, and I can feel his erection pressing against my rear.

"Get yourself off," he says, gently rubbing his cheek against mine. "I want to watch."

I swallow hard. This feels so humiliating, even though we're the only two people in the room.

Then his thumb rubs at my clit, and I moan, jerking my hips involuntarily as pleasure jolts through me. I slide up and down his fingers slightly.

But he stops moving, and I hold back a disappointed whine.

"Don't you wanna get off?" he says in a low, tempting voice. "Go for it."

The two fingers inside me twitch just slightly, and I moan at the sensation but continue to hold still.

"Have it your way, then," he says.

His fingers start pumping again, and he inserts a third. I groan at the feeling of being stretched out again. He leans into me, sliding his free hand up to cup my breast. He pinches my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging lightly.

Down below, his fingers increase the pace of their thrusting.

Craving even more, I start grinding my hips against his fingers. My clit rubs against his palm when I move, and I mewl, rocking my hips faster.

I'm so close—so, so close…

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize that he's already stopped moving his fingers, that this is all me now. But at this point, I couldn't stop the frantic motion of my hips even if I'd wanted to. A few more pumps later, my body tenses up, and I catapult into bliss.

As I regain my senses, his fingers slide out of me.

My entire body feels like jelly, as though it doesn't contain a single bone.

Slowly, he eases me backwards onto his cock, and I let out a long, breathy sigh. It feels so _good_. When he's fully inside me, he groans and plants a few kisses along the back of my neck, trailing up to my ear.

I expect him to start moving, but he holds still, and I realize that he's giving me time to recover. I tug at the ropes around my wrists—I want to turn around and kiss him—but they hold tightly.

His hands wander slowly up my body, one of them slick with my secretions, leaving behind a slippery trail. He pinches and tugs lightly at my nipples, forcing my need back to the surface, and I find myself desiring a good, hard fuck from him.

I clench the muscles in my pussy experimentally.

"Fuck," he hisses, giving me an especially hard nip at the base of my neck.

He shifts slightly, testing my readiness for him. I moan and press back against him, and he begins to slide in and out of me. I can't hold back the sounds that erupt from my throat when he picks up in the speed and intensity of his thrusts.

One of his hands slides back down my body to play with my engorged clit, and it quickly becomes too much for me. After two more swipes, I come again, crying his name and clamping down hard around him.

But as I come down from my high, I realize that the flood of warmth I'd felt in our previous couplings didn't come this time. And he's still rock-hard inside me.

"Is something wrong, Draco?" I ask after catching my breath.

He kisses my neck and slowly eases out of me.

The ropes around my wrists disappear, and I turn around on shaky legs, finally getting another look at him. I reach up and touch his cheek—his jaw is clenched, and I can tell he's controlling himself. I kiss his lips softly, and he takes a small step forward, pushing me back against the wall and giving me an extremely thorough kiss.

Then, without warning, he lifts me up. I squeal with surprise, and then I'm impaled on him again.

"The bed's—right—over there—" I manage to say between his thrusts.

He covers my mouth with his, swallowing any other words that I might have wanted to say, not that I could remember them anymore.

The pleasure is so great that it seems to be bordering on pain, but I can't stop myself from yielding, from responding. My hips meet his thrust for thrust, and I grip his shoulders tightly. I drag my nails lightly down his back, and he hisses.

"Do—that—again," he grunts without slowing his pace.

I rake my nails down his back again, harder this time. He groans and increases the pace and force of his thrusts, forcing me to make terribly loud noises.

"Fuck," he grits. "Can't hold on—rub yourself."

I obey without thinking—I'm beyond thought. One of my hands keeps a grip on his shoulder while the other snakes down between us and begins to rub at my clit. I feel myself tensing up rapidly, but I manage to lift my eyes to look at his face.

He grunts lightly as he thrusts. His face holds such a look of pleasure—eyes screwed shut, lips slightly parted, breaths ragged and uneven.

"Come, Draco," I pant. "Come."

At my command, he seems to lose all semblance of control, exploding inside me with a cry of my name. He continues thrusting erratically through his release, and after two more rubs, I follow him into euphoria.

As his motion slowly stills, he drops his head onto my shoulder, trying to catch his breath. I feel like I can't disentangle myself from him—I don't _want_ to. I continue to cling to him, even though I know that he must feel just as lethargic as I do. I'm so relaxed, and perfectly content…

"Can you walk?" he asks when his breathing has evened out.

"I don't know," I admit.

He chuckles, and the rich sound is wonderful to my ears. He pulls out of me and carries me away from the wall and over to the bed, where he sets me down gently.

"That was… amazing."

He smirks and crawls up beside me. "I know. I don't need you to stroke my ego, Hermione."

I punch him playfully, smiling. Then I lean over and kiss him.

I suppose my questions can wait until morning…

* * *

A light knock on the door rouses me from my sleep, and I glance sleepily in the direction of the door.

"Oi, Hermione? Malfoy?"

It's Harry.

I close my eyes, nuzzle into his neck, and inhale deeply, taking in the scent that is uniquely Draco.

"Hermione?" Harry calls out again.

Partially beneath me, Draco stirs and stretches slightly. I feel a light kiss on the top of my head, and I respond by shifting downward, changing the angle of my head slightly, and planting an open-mouthed kiss at the base of his neck.

Draco groans, and his arms suddenly wrap around me, trapping me against him. He rolls us over and grins down at me like a shark.

"Morning, Hermione," he says in a low voice that's still a bit raspy from sleep.

His lips come down on mine, and I can't think of any other place in the world that I would rather be.

Harry knocks on the door again. "Hello? Are you two awake in there?"

I reluctantly lower my chin a bit, breaking our kiss. I meet Draco's eyes and see that he looks slightly put out. The expression on his face is adorable, and I hold back the urge to tell him so.

"What do you want, Potter?" he calls out.

"Are you two busy?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course we're busy," Draco says, grinning at me.

"It's just that everyone's going to Hogwarts to celebrate Voldemort's fall, and… Malfoy, I couldn't have done it without you," Harry says.

"Not to be rude," Draco says, "but I think we'd rather stay here and fuck."

"Draco!" I exclaim, pushing at his chest and sitting up.

"Erm…" Harry begins awkwardly from outside.

"We're coming, Harry. We'll be there soon," I say.

Draco heaves a sigh as I get off the bed and walk toward my clothes. I grab my wand and cast a Scouring Charm on myself—it'll have to do until I can shower.

"Draco, come on," I urge.

"I don't want to," he says, flopping onto his back and stretching languidly. He looks up at me with a small smile. "Come back soon."

I reach down and grab his hands to pull him up, but he yanks me back onto the bed instead.

"Draco, I want you to come with me. Don't you want people to know—"

"I can't go anyway," he says. "Death Eater boundary, remember?"

"We can Floo there," I say. "I'm sure Harry already took that into consideration."

"Fine, I'll go. For you."

"How sweet."

I get to my feet and toss his clothing at him, but he throws it right back at me and goes to the wardrobe to pick out a clean set of clothing.

When we're both fully dressed, he turns to face me. "You'd better be nice to me when we get back, or this'll be the last thing I do for you," he threatens teasingly as he turns and heads for the door.

I smile. "I'm _always_ nice to you."

I reach out and smack his arse, and he glances back at me, grinning.

"I like that you're getting more daring."

"I learn fast," I respond, winking at him.

Next thing on my list of things to _learn_ is how to read Draco like Blaise does.

His hand wraps around mine, and it feels so big and warm. I smile and follow him out of the room. He turns toward the fireplace, but I stop walking, and he turns back to look at me, a bit confused.

"Wait just a minute," I tell him, pulling my hand away and moving toward the kitchen.

"What?"

"I think it's about time we took Ron back to Hogwarts."

Draco frowns, and I realize that he probably got the wrong idea. I'm not just releasing him…

"His mother still hasn't heard what he's done," I say to clarify.

This puts a grin on Draco's face.

As I open the kitchen door, the fireplace bursts to life, and I turn to see Harry's head floating in the flames.

"Here, come on," he says.

"One minute," I say to Harry. "We're going to bring Ron back to Hogwarts."

When I turn to face the kitchen, I see that Ron is looking at me hopefully. How does he always manage to convince himself that I'll have forgiven him since the last time I saw him? I consider leaving him there for another day or two.

No, I'll just get it over with.

"Scourgify," I mutter, pointing my wand at him.

Then I release him from the wall, and he falls onto shaky, slightly weak legs—it almost looks like he's forgotten how to walk, and for a moment, I struggle to hold back laughter.

"Can I have my wand back, Hermione?" he asks me.

"You'll have to ask Draco. I don't have it," I say, turning away and walking over to my blond.

I pause. _My_ blond. Merlin, I really _am_ getting possessive.

He smiles at me as I reach him, and I take his hand in both of mine, knowing that if _I_ initiate contact, it'll infuriate Ron even more.

"Malfoy, give me back my wand," Ron says as he moves into the living room.

"Nope. I don't want to," Draco says easily. Then he turns toward the fireplace. "Let's not keep Potter waiting."

Ron looks over and sees Harry's head in the fireplace. "Make him give me back my wand, Harry," he says.

"How old are you, Ron?" Harry asks, exasperation evident on his face. "Just come on."

Ron glares at both of us before stepping into the flames.

Draco squeezes my hand, and I look up at him. He's reluctant to go back to Hogwarts because of all the things that had happened there, I realize. It's not just because he doesn't want to participate in the celebration. It's because of his memories of the place.

I smile reassuringly and lean up to kiss his cheek.

"Draco, you _do_ belong at this celebration," I tell him. "I've forgiven you for everything you did to me in school. And Harry has too, I'm sure. I know that this might not be enough for the long run, but it should be enough for now."

He shakes his head minutely. "Where did you come from, witch?"

What does he mean?

I open my mouth to voice the question, but his lips capture mine, and I'm blissfully distracted.

Harry clears his throat, and I start to back up, but Draco's arm holds me to him, refusing to let me back away. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him holding a finger up in Harry's direction, telling him to wait.

_God_, the things this man can do with his tongue…

When he finally comes up for air, I almost want to tell him just to take me back into the bedroom. The celebration can go to hell—I just want to be with him. But now that the worst is over, we'll have the rest of our lives to be together. I can spare a few hours at Hogwarts.

"Are you two finished yet?" Harry says.

I glance over to see that his face is a bit strained. I wonder if it's difficult for him to see me kissing Draco Malfoy… after all, Draco _had_ been quite a prat back in school.

"I suppose so," Draco says, turning to face the fireplace.

His hand slides down my arm to take my hand again, and we walk through the fireplace together.

On the other side, we're greeted by Professor McGonagall.

"Welcome, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy," she says with a warm smile.

Draco smiles politely. "Hello, Professor."

"I'd like a private word with Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall says to Harry.

"I'll take Ron down to the Great Hall, then," Harry says.

Ron's glaring at us, but I can tell that he doesn't want to explode in front of McGonagall. When Harry pulls him out of the room, he goes without complaint.

"Miss Granger, you can stay," McGonagall says before I can head for the exit.

I smile. "It's nice to see you again."

"Likewise, Miss Granger. Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter told me what you volunteered to do, for us. I—"

"With all due respect, it wasn't for you," Draco interrupts.

"For whatever reason, I am grateful," McGonagall says. "Also, we rounded up a good number of Death Eaters—close to two hundred. The trap was a wonderful idea."

What trap? I'll make him explain this to me when he has the chance.

"What happened to the rest?" Draco asks.

"There was a secret exit route," McGonagall says with a sigh. "We don't know how many of them made it out. Nevertheless, I'd like to thank you for that as well."

"I didn't—"

"Mr. Nott told me who to thank for his act."

Oh, so this "trap" was the "separate mission" that Draco had sent Nott on.

"You're welcome, then," Draco says, nodding. "And what happened to Rowle?"

"He was killed by your aunt," McGonagall says. "At least, that's what the Death Eaters at the scene said, when we asked. They were all furious with him."

"Shame. He was actually quite helpful to me," Draco says.

It's surprising yet completely unsurprising that Draco takes death so calmly. I suppose the war has had that effect on all of us…

"Well. Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger, you can go. The others are in the Great Hall," McGonagall says.

"Thank you, Professor," I say with a smile.

Draco nods once in her direction, and we exit the room.

"You're going to have to explain every part of that damned plan of yours, eventually," I tell Draco.

"I won't—"

"_Hey_. There isn't any point in secrecy anymore. Like you said, it's over. You don't have to keep secrets from me," I say.

"Fine. I'll answer your questions about the plan," he says.

I guess it's a start. If I can get him to start talking about _something_, I'll eventually get him to open up about other things. At least, that's what I _hope_ will happen. He's bound to loosen up in the end, isn't he?

When we reach the Great Hall, Harry breaks out of the crowd to greet us. Surprisingly, no one follows him. But then I realize that they're all still looking in this direction with interest, and I suppose they're only not coming because Harry specifically told them not to.

"I didn't want to ruin the night for Mrs. Weasley," he says in a low voice.

"Ah, so you haven't told her about what her son did to Hermione," Draco says.

"No, not yet. I just… I'll let him go for tonight. Consider it a grace period," Harry says. "Tomorrow, I'll—"

"_RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!_"

Heads that had been facing our direction immediately snap back toward the interior of the Great Hall, and Harry, Draco, and I all hurry over to the entrance, hoping to see what's happening. I _know_ that that was Molly Weasley's voice.

Then Ron is blasted high up into the air and lands on his arse.

Shocked silence fills the hall.

A moment later, Fred and George start laughing. When the twins start laughing, everyone else seems to take it as a sign that it's okay to laugh.

Mrs. Weasley crosses the distance between her and her son. Then she grabs his ear and tugs him to his feet, and I begin to hear the murmurs in the hall—everyone's speculating about what he could have done. Mrs. Weasley, meanwhile, is furiously whispering into Ron's ear.

"Wonder what she's saying," Draco says.

"Well… I guess he's lucky she's trying not to disturb everyone too much," Harry says. "Otherwise, I bet all of us would be able to hear every single word."

Draco chuckles. "Yes, I remember that Howler, too."

Then I notice that Mrs. Weasley has led Ron out of the room.

"Are you two ready for this?" I ask them with a sigh.

Harry only shrugs. I guess he's gotten some tolerance for these types of gatherings.

"I'd really rather go home," Draco says.

"We're here already," I tell him. "If you're a good boy, I'll take you up to visit Blaise."

"Can we just skip to visiting Blaise?"

I roll my eyes and start walking straight into the Great Hall, pulling Draco along with me.

Clasping his hand tightly in mine, I prepare myself for the onslaught of questions we will undoubtedly get about our new relationship.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I still have a few chapters left in store for you guys (a few as in more than five, and less than ten). So we really are getting close…

Oh, and in case you don't check my profile (I know the majority of you guys probably don't), a reader, VampireQueenBrittany, made a poster for _Turncoat_. As I said on my profile, I really liked it, so I decided to share it with you guys, since you've stuck around for so long :)

This is the link: i110 . photobucket . com/albums/n106/watchh_out_i_bite/TurncoatPoster . jpg

Don't forget to delete the spaces before and after the dots.

Actually, now I'm thinking about finding an "official" poster (or banner?) for _Turncoat_, since I'm getting close to finishing it. I guess having an image to represent the story won't really change it at all… but it'd be cool to see what people come up with.

So if any of you guys are interested in doing a photo manipulation, send me a PM. I haven't done images for any of my stories before, but I think I could figure something out (posting the link back in Chapter 1, and probably on my profile as well… something like that).


	94. Chapter 94 D

**Author's Note:** I am tired, so I don't have much to say in this author's note. Oh, well.

**Chapter 94**

I pull open the door to the hospital wing, thankful to finally be out of the Great Hall.

There had been _way_ too many people, and all of them were far too happy for my liking. The war isn't even over yet. Voldemort isn't the _only_ Dark wizard out there—there are plenty of Death Eaters left, roaming free. Aunt Bella, for example, wasn't among those who were captured last night. Neither were Mulciber, Macnair, Nott Sr., my father… and many more.

"Draco—"

I turn and lift a finger to my lips, shushing her. It's very quiet in the ward, and I want to see what the outcome was between Blaise and Daphne.

"What did the spell do to him?" I whisper as I step into the room.

Hermione follows me inside and closes the door quietly. "I'll tell you later," she replies.

We move toward Blaise's cot silently. Daphne is sitting on a chair, hunched over the side of the sickbed. My eyes zero in on their hands—she's clasping one of his hands in hers. But I'm pretty sure that this contact was initiated by Daphne, not Blaise.

"What were they like?" Hermione whispers from behind me.

I glance back. "Honestly?"

She nods.

"At first, it was amusing," I say, turning back to look at them. "I'd never seen Blaise so frustrated. He was practically obsessed—he tried everything on her."

"I heard that she wouldn't take the bait," Hermione says.

"She's a smart girl. She knew his reputation."

"What happened, then?"

"People expected him to give up and move on after a while, and when he didn't, they started to believe he was really in love with her. And eventually, she thought so too."

I pause.

It's strange to think back on that year. I'd spent most of it in agony—I was given the insane, impossible task of killing Dumbledore, and it didn't help that Hermione looked even more beautiful to me than she had the year before.

I was terrified of the feelings that swelled in me whenever I saw her, whenever she so much as glanced in my direction. The looks of disdain and dislike hurt me much more than I ever would have admitted—than I ever _will_ admit.

Blaise's activities concerning Daphne were wonderful distractions, at first. It really _was_ amusing to finally see him so frustrated in an arena in which he typically excelled.

"It became a bit painful to watch," I say quietly. "Painful because I knew that the feelings were so real on her side and so false on his. Everyone else thought that they were a perfect couple."

"But you knew otherwise, of course," Hermione says.

I nod. "Of course."

"And then what happened?"

I turn around to face her. "And then, inevitably, he got bored of her."

She bites her lip and looks at the sleeping forms of Daphne and Blaise, and I can guess that she's feeling sympathy for the Slytherin girl.

"Don't worry, Hermione," I say. "We're tough when it comes to emotions."

"Outwardly, maybe. But deep inside?" she responds.

"Good point. Looking at her, you never would have guessed how broken up she was about it."

"How did _you_ know, then?"

"Pansy told me everything, whether or not I wanted to hear. Naturally, she told me all the things that Daphne had said to her."

Hermione reaches over and takes my hand in hers, and I meet her eyes.

"I'll never get bored of you," she says reassuringly.

"That's good to know," I say with a small smile. Then I turn back toward the cot and say, "Blaise?"

No response.

"I know you're awake already," I say.

"Draco, shh—" Hermione begins.

"It's okay," Blaise says. "He's right."

"How long have you been awake?" Hermione asks, stepping to my side. Her small hand tenses slightly around mine, and I wonder if she's feeling guilty for choosing me.

"He woke only a few seconds ago," I say.

"Always attentive, you are," Blaise says.

And it's true. I noticed that his breathing was no longer deep and even. After almost six full years of rooming together, I know the subtle difference between his breathing when he's awake, and when he's asleep.

Then I notice that he seems to be attempting to pull his hand out of Daphne's grasp without waking her. I can't help but feel sorry for her.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asks him.

"A lot better," Blaise says. "Whatever she gave me worked very well… and surprisingly quickly."

There's a silence.

"So this is the welcome I get?" I say, grinning. "Shouldn't you be happier to see me?"

He chuckles. "Glad to see you made it out of there in one piece," he says.

He finally slips his hand out, and Daphne sits upright instantly, looking around alertly.

"Draco, you're alive," she observes.

"Why the tone of surprise?" I reply.

She only smiles.

Then the door to the ward opens, and all of us turn our heads toward the entrance. The youngest Weasley is standing in the doorway.

"Hermione," she says. "I thought I'd find you here."

"Little Weasley. What do you want?" I ask.

"I was talking to _Hermione_, not you," she says.

"Did you need something?" Hermione asks.

"I just wanted to talk to you about… something."

Hermione looks up at me and smiles. "I'll be right back, then. Okay?"

She starts toward the door, but before she can release my hand, I tighten my grip on her and pull her back, drawing her in for a kiss. As soon as our lips touch, I wish I could keep her longer, but I know she wants to talk to Weasley. I smile as I release her.

"Okay," I say, in response to her previous statement.

She smiles back at me before leaving the room.

I turn to see Blaise and Daphne staring at me.

"You…" Daphne begins. "I've never seen…"

"Disorienting, isn't it?" Blaise says to her. "I was rather shocked when I first forced it out of him, too."

"Shut up, Blaise."

"I'm surprised at you two. You both fell for a Gryffindor. I never would have thought…"

"It had nothing to do with her House," Blaise says.

"Yes, of course. I'm just… surprised. That's all."

"Did you make up an excuse for your absence from home?" I ask her.

"I'm… thinking about it. My parents were still gone when I left, so I didn't have to say anything. And Astoria… she wasn't really much of a problem."

"I don't understand how she turned out so thick," I say.

"Daphne took all the brains."

"Well, she got the looks," Daphne says.

I shake my head but don't speak—it'd be better for Blaise to jump in here. And he doesn't disappoint me.

"Don't say that, Daphne," he says. "You're beautiful."

"Right, I forgot," Daphne begins.

I hold back a sigh. Judging by her tone, what's coming next isn't going to be pretty.

As expected, she says, "You only dated beautiful girls. But wait, you didn't like to call it _dating_, did you?"

"I'm sorry," Blaise says.

"As you should be."

After a brief pause, I ask, "Do you two need some more time alone?"

"No," they both say simultaneously.

I chuckle and move to sit on the other side of Blaise's cot. "All right, then. So, what did that snake hit you with?"

"I'm actually not sure what the spell was. But Madam Pomfrey said that there was a snake-like creature inside me."

"Disgusting."

"It's dead already. She said she'd remove it in the morning… what time is it?"

"Not past eleven," I reply.

"You should probably be heading back then, Daphne," Blaise says.

She looks at him, hurt. "Do you want me to go?"

Mate, say no.

"I think it'd be best for you if you just left."

Fuck.

Daphne nods jerkily and gets to her feet. I have to do something.

"Don't, Daphne," I say.

"He's right. I should go," she says in an even voice.

But I can tell from her rigid stance that she's holding in an outburst. And perhaps some angry tears.

"Could you give the two of us a minute?" I ask her. "And don't leave—I still have something to tell you."

"Don't ask for—"

"I won't," I say. "It's not another favor. Just don't go, yet."

"Fine," she says.

She exits the room without another word, and the door shuts behind her quietly.

"Don't—"

"It was a bit ungrateful of you, dismissing her like that. She saved your life," I interrupt my best mate.

"I don't want any misunderstanding between us," he says. "She was _holding my hand_, mate. I'm not about to let her think that there's a chance—"

"Why are you doing this?"

His eyes narrow. "Doing what?"

"You _do_ care about her. Why are you so intent on pushing her away?"

"Because I don't care _enough_ about her. If I let her back into my life, I'll just hurt her. And I've already done quite enough of that."

"But you wouldn't have to hurt her," I say. "You actually care about her now. You've changed since your days at Hogwarts. You're not the same—"

"It doesn't change what I did to her."

"No, but—"

"Draco, why are _you_ doing this?" he interrupts me. "Why are you trying to convince me to try it again with Daphne? Are you trying to relieve yourself of a guilty conscience? If so, there's no need."

"I don't feel guilty about Hermione," I say truthfully. "That was her choice, not something you or I could have changed. I'm doing this because you're my best mate, and your happiness—fuck, Blaise, are you really going to let me keep going? I feel like a bloody Hufflepuff."

Blaise laughs at this.

"Glad you're amused."

"I almost died for you. The least you can do is entertain me," he quips.

"_I_ almost died for _you_. You should show me a bit more gratitude," I reply.

We share a smile.

Then I say, "Look, mate, at least consider it. The brooding hero type just doesn't fit you. And I might have to disown you, on principle."

He chuckles. "Since when was I ever _brooding?_"

"Don't deny it," I say.

He only shrugs. But a moment later, a devious grin creeps over his features.

"I don't like that look on your face," I tell him.

"My happiness is important to you, yes?"

I sigh. "You're never going to just forget about that, are you?"

He shakes his head, smiling. "What if I said that my happiness is entirely dependent on Hermione's?"

"Don't—"

"I'm not going to let it go. We both made it out alive—you have yet to tell me how the hell you managed it, by the way. But I expect you to at least try to open up to her."

"I just—"

"At least talk to her about your mother, if you're absolutely set on never talking about Russia."

"Fine. But you have to forgive yourself for what you did in school. It's been a long time, and you've changed. Daphne's forgiven you."

"I don't think so."

"Do you think she would have saved you if—"

"Just trust me on this one, Draco. I know more about girls than you do."

"You just want an excuse to keep piling on the guilt. Ask her yourself," I say.

"Don't even get me started on guilt, Draco. Just look at yourself."

"It's not all guilt," I say. "I'll admit that that's a big part of it, but it isn't the root of my problem."

Blaise frowns. "Then—"

"Stop trying to analyze me."

"Fine. Just—"

The door opens, and we both look toward it. Blaise stops himself midsentence—Hermione's striding into the room toward us.

"Why'd you two leave Greengrass just standing outside? How rude of you," she reprimands teasingly.

"Are we good, then, Draco?" Blaise asks me, ignoring Hermione's statement.

I glance back at my mate and sigh. "Fine."

"Are you boys okay?" Daphne asks—she'd followed Hermione back into the ward.

"We're fantastic," I say.

Hermione's fingers weave between mine, and I look up to see her smiling down at me. I squeeze her fingers gently.

"Daphne… maybe you should stay," Blaise says.

"Did Draco talk you into this?"

"I reconsidered. It'll be safer for you and your family if they follow you over."

"They would never come."

"Then leave them behind," Blaise says. "You never believed in that cause, anyway."

"Just because you could turn your back on your family doesn't mean I can do the same to mine."

"Those words sound familiar, don't they, Blaise?" I say.

Blaise sighs, and Hermione looks at me questioningly.

"Daphne," Blaise says, "Draco said almost exactly the same thing to me three years ago, when we had our fight. He's here, now, even though he cares about his family. Don't do what he did."

"You couldn't wait until I was gone to say that, could you?"

Blaise shrugs. "You know you were wrong."

"Yeah, but you were, too," I say.

"What exactly happened between you two?" Hermione asks.

Blaise and I exchange glances.

"We'd rather not get into that," Blaise says. "Daphne, my point is that you have a chance to stay. You'll have my support. I've got their trust, here."

"For what it's worth, I'd speak for you, too," I say.

"I wouldn't vouch for your family, but you I could speak for," Hermione adds.

Daphne looks between the three of us before finally returning her eyes to Blaise. "I can't just leave them," she says. "They're my family, whether or not they've chosen the right side."

"I've been right where you are," I say. "But look at where I ended up, regardless."

"Don't you feel guilty for abandoning your family?"

"Yes."

"Why did you do it, then?"

My eyes stray to Hermione before I can stop them, and she smiles faintly at me.

"For her?" Daphne asks.

I glance in Daphne's direction, and then I look pointedly at Blaise, making sure that Daphne gets my unspoken response: _wouldn't you do the same for him?_

"Greengrass, I understand the importance of family to pure-blood witches and wizards, but beliefs and morals are important, too," Hermione says. "I don't think that you ever believed in what Voldemort was doing. Otherwise, you'd probably be a Death Eater already. That means—"

"Don't try to understand me, Granger," Daphne cuts her off. "I don't know you, and you don't know me. I don't want or need your advice."

"Watch it, Daphne," I warn her.

"It's fine," Hermione says.

Daphne shakes her head. "I can't get used to seeing you—_you_, of all people, defending a Muggle-born."

"Then don't look," I say.

Hermione squeezes my hand, and I look up to see that she's shaking her head, clearly trying to tell me that it's okay—she can overlook it.

"Daphne, just consider staying here," Blaise says, getting back to the main topic. "It'll be better for you. Voldemort's dead anyway, so you shouldn't have to worry too much about your family."

Then there's a light cough, and I look in the direction of the sound, alert.

"That's Frank Longbottom," Blaise says. "Madam Pomfrey gave him some Dreamless Sleep Potion to let his mind get some proper rest. He might be waking up, now."

"Where's Longbottom, then? Neville Longbottom, that is," I say.

Blaise shrugs. "He was still here when I fell asleep."

"Abbott—the Hufflepuff girl—she convinced him to go back and get some sleep," Daphne informs us.

I get to my feet and start toward Frank Longbottom's cot. Hermione doesn't release my hand and follows me over quietly. Just as Blaise surmised, the old man is awake, and his eyes fix on me.

"You look… just like your father did when he was younger," he comments.

I nod in response.

"Neville said that you never gave him anything," he says. "The memories…"

"Are in my safe-keeping," I tell him. "Do you want them back?"

Longbottom shakes his head. "Those were duplicate memories. No need."

I glance back at the others and suddenly wish that I could be alone with Longbottom for a few minutes. I want to ask him about Aunt Bella, to hear what she was like, the things that she did…

"Hello, Mr. Longbottom," Hermione says from beside me. "My name is Hermione Granger—I was in Neville's year, at Hogwarts."

"Yes, I've heard your name," Longbottom says. "You're the brilliant Muggle-born witch, aren't you?"

She smiles. "I wouldn't say brilliant."

Then there's a loud bang from outside, and all heads turn in the direction of the door, surprised and alert.

Dean Thomas throws the doors open.

"Death Eaters—attacking London—broad fucking daylight—"

"Damn it," I mutter.

I wish they'd all been trapped in the meeting room. If they captured about two hundred people… then more than half of the Death Eaters in England are still roaming free. How could I have not known about any secret passageways out of the place?

"We have to go," Hermione says urgently. "It'll be a massacre."

"Is there any way I could convince you to stay here?" I ask.

The look she gives me leaves no room for doubt.

"That's what I thought," I say resignedly.

"No—Blaise, lie back down!" Daphne exclaims.

I look in his direction to see Blaise pushing himself into a sitting position. Daphne is pressing down on his shoulders, trying to get him to lie back down.

"Mate, you're seriously injured," I say. "Don't—"

"I know my limitations," Blaise says.

"Look, I'm just going to want to keep an eye on you if you go. It's enough that I'll be worrying about this one, here," I say, gesturing toward Hermione.

"Blaise, don't you dare go anywhere," Hermione tells him.

"So I'm just going to lie here and be useless?"

"You'll be even more useless to us if you go out and get yourself killed. Stay put," I say.

I head for the doors. Thomas is gone already, presumably to spread the news to more areas of the castle.

"Daphne, are you coming?" I ask.

"I… don't want them to see me on your side," she says.

"Stay here and keep an eye on Blaise, then. I get the feeling that he's going to try something stupid in the near future," I say.

Hermione and I hurry out of the room and down the hall toward McGonagall's office—I can't pass through the boundary around the grounds, so we'll have to Floo out.

On our way there, Potter intercepts us.

"I was just going up to look for you," he says.

"Was there any reason for this attack?" I ask him.

"Not that we know of."

We move quickly into the Headmaster's office and through the fireplace, emerging from the chimney of a small shop in Muggle London. We exit and find ourselves in the middle of a battle zone.

Order members are far outnumbered on this narrow street, and I don't like the thought of just how outnumbered we are as a whole. But it's clear that members of the Order of the Phoenix are better duelists. Most are taking on several fighters at once.

I wonder if the members at the Dark Lord's table are here somewhere. I know that Rowle's dead. Are the other ones out here, fighting, or are they hiding and trying to regroup?

Who's calling the shots, now? Aunt Bella would be the obvious choice, but this… this massive mobilization… it just doesn't seem like her style.

I fight alongside Potter and Hermione for a short while, but the appearance of Greg and Vince's fathers draws me away, and I chase them down to the next street—I want to get an idea of exactly how many of the men at the Dark Lord's table are free.

I catch up with the two large men and duel them simultaneously.

We're going to need reinforcements. And if many Death Eaters made it out of the meeting room alive, we'll need a lot of support. Where will that come from?

I remember how reluctant Dorian Langley had been when he agreed to join the Death Eaters. Perhaps he could be convinced to support us. Voldemort had even implied that Langley had received Shacklebolt before. I could pay him a visit…

But first, I have to deal with these two oafs.


	95. Chapter 95 D

**Author's Note:** I had a lab exam last night. Pretty difficult. I don't think I did particularly well… but everyone thought it was hard, so I guess that's comforting. Anyway, if you aren't a regular visitor to my profile (which I assume you probably aren't), then you most likely don't know that I've finished writing _Turncoat_! Well, just a rough draft, but after a few touch-ups, I should be satisfied.

So anyway, here's the next installment.

**Chapter 95**

Vince and Greg really are idiots—I have no idea how they got to be so thick. Their fathers might be slightly lacking in the mental department, but their dueling skills are still very respectable. I'm kept on my toes, dodging and firing spells.

The people around us have backed off to give us room, fighting their own battles around us.

I wave my wand to the side rapidly, throwing twin balls of turquoise light at them. Crabbe Sr. leaps to the side and manages to dodge the one aimed at him, but his partner isn't so lucky. Goyle Sr. is thrown backward, clutching at his neck as large boils begin to spring up.

Angered by the sight of his friend in so much pain, Crabbe Sr. attacks me with renewed vigor, and I have to twist, duck, and leap to the side to avoid a quick volley of ill-natured spells.

Unfortunately, Goyle Sr. knows the countercurse to the spell I hit him with and rids himself of the boils soon enough. He heads toward me, but something else catches his eye, and as I dodge a jet of green light from Crabbe Sr., I see that he's spotted Nymphadora, standing with her back to him.

Without giving myself another moment to think, I race in her direction—she's not too far away from me.

I'm three steps away from her when I hear the words escape his lips.

Two steps.

The tip of his wand explodes.

One step.

A stream of bright green light zips toward her.

I barrel into my cousin, and the bolt of green light skims across my shoulder blades. For one intense moment, an impressive coldness grips me, and I wonder if being grazed by the Killing Curse is enough to do someone in.

But then we smash into the ground, and Nymphadora instantly fires an attack over my shoulder. I push myself off her and create a shield just as three spells come within close proximity of us.

When I glance at her, I see that she is surprised. But though the emotion shows on her face, she doesn't allow it to affect her pace, and she continues on fighting, spinning so that we're back to back.

Goyle Sr. looks furious that I thwarted his effort, but his anger clouds his judgment and slows him down—my next Stunning Spell hits him square in the chest, and he drops like a dead weight.

Crabbe Sr. immediately points his wand at his partner to revive him, and I can't believe my good luck.

Taking advantage of his distraction, I Stun him as well and Summon both of their wands to me. Then I move over to them—it'd be a good idea to deliver them to Hogwarts before anyone has a chance to wake them.

"Malfoy!"

I pause and cast a strong Shield Charm just as several attacks fly my way. Then I turn toward my cousin.

"Thank you," she says.

I can see from her eyes that this is sincere. I give her a quick nod before reaching down to grasp the forearms of both unconscious Death Eaters. I'll bring them to Hogwarts before getting on my way.

* * *

I start down a familiar, tree-lined path.

"Naree, stay out of sight. I'll need you later, to bring me back to England."

My loyal house-elf nods once. "Yes, Master."

Then he vanishes, and I speed up my pace. As I reach about a quarter of the way down the path, sentries start appearing between the trees, just as they had before. I wonder how much has changed since I was last here—has Langley's pledge of allegiance affected life here?

The men draw nearer, and I look between them quickly, considering my options. Going on a hunch, I tug my left sleeve up, exposing the Dark Mark. The sentries stop approaching and return to their positions.

Ah, so Death Eaters are given special treatment, after all.

The large double doors swing open as I reach them, and I enter. The entrance hall is empty, and I see the staircase that I'd climbed the last time I was here.

Then a tall, thin man appears. "Greetings," he says.

It's only one word, but I can hear that he has a Russian accent.

"Is Dorian Langley here?" I ask.

The man narrows his eyes slightly but nods. "He is in his study," he replies. "Allow me to alert him to your arrival. Your name is…?"

"Malfoy."

He looks me over once before disappearing up the flight of steps.

Less than a minute later, Langley appears on the staircase. "Did the Dark Lord send you?"

I avoid his question. "Can we speak privately?"

He narrows his eyes at me suspiciously but nods, gesturing for me to follow him upstairs. Moments later, I find myself in the same study as last time.

"I am at a disadvantage," he says.

I frown and wait for him to explain.

"You have yet to tell me who exactly you are. The name Malfoy means very little to me."

"Who I am is not important," I tell him.

"Why are you here, then?"

"I have news about the Dark Lord. He's dead."

The old man frowns slightly. "Is he really?" he asks in a tone devoid of emotion.

I wonder if he's suppressing his reaction. Does he feel relief? It's difficult to tell.

"Yes," I reply.

He takes a few steps toward the window and looks out, much as he did when I was last here with Voldemort. His eyes survey the view, and I wait for a reaction. It'll be safer for me if I gauge his reaction to the Dark Lord's death before asking any favors.

"And I suppose there are orders for me… now that he's gone?" Langley says.

I still can't sense any emotion in his voice. "No orders. I'm here to ask for your assistance in Britain."

"What sort of assistance?"

I pause, trying to assess the situation. It's so difficult to tell how Langley is taking the news. If he is upset that Voldemort is dead, then it won't be prudent to ask for his help in defeating the Death Eaters, because he'll refuse and then try to kill me. But if he's glad that Voldemort is gone… that's another story altogether.

Fuck it. I'll go for it. If all else fails, Naree is close by. With any luck, he'll be able to get me out of here in one piece.

"The Order of the Phoenix needs your help."

Silence.

"Voldemort may be gone, but his Death Eaters are still there, and they seem to be following a new leader," I say. "If you could—"

"Why would you ask for this? You're a Death Eater yourself, are you not?"

"I defected."

"Then it's rather brash of you to be showing up here, in the home of the most powerful follower of the Dark Lord in Russia. What did you hope to accomplish, boy?"

"I hoped that you would have the sense to know that without someone as powerful as the Dark Lord himself at the helm, this regime of his will crumble. The Order will prevail. Don't you want to be on the winning side?"

He slowly turns to face me, but his face is just as carefully composed as before. "You won't win," he says calmly. "I will not help you."

Maybe that's a sign that I should get the hell out of here.

But just as that thought crosses my mind, the door swings shut behind me. I take a deep breath, bracing myself. I hope that Naree's in the room already. And that Langley can't detect him.

"I suppose all that remains for me right now is to call your bluff," he says.

… What?

"I know exactly who you are, and this ruse of yours is not amusing to me in the slightest."

When he stops speaking, I shake my head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Do not think me a fool," he says. "If Tom wants my obedience, playing little mind tricks like this one certainly will not help him in any way. Frankly, I'm disappointed in his—"

"Wait," I interrupt. "This isn't a trick."

"Of _course_ it's not," Langley says, shaking his head.

"It really isn't. I saw him die with my own eyes."

He looks at me, clearly frustrated. "Go back to England. Tell Tom that I'm getting old. Old, and tired of his never ending suspicions. He wanted my obedience, so I gave it to him. What more can he ask of me?"

I take a deep breath. "He's dead."

"Do you really think I don't know who you are?" he asks, raising his voice slightly. "I _know_ that you were the one whom Tom brought along when he last visited. I _know_ that you're the one whom he's chosen to take over. Do you really think I would believe that _you_, of all people, have switched allegiances?"

How can he know that? I didn't speak a word in that conversation, and I was under a Disillusionment Charm—_Voldemort's_ Disillusionment Charm. There's no way Langley could have seen through that.

"How did you know—"

"You may not have made yourself known, but I recognize your footsteps. Tom doesn't make a sound when he walks. Your footfalls were light, but not light enough. That is how I knew of your presence."

Well, this is a first. I've been recognized by the rhythm of my footsteps.

"What do I have to do to convince you that he's dead?" I ask.

He narrows his eyes at me. "Why are you still going? I already—"

"Because it's the truth," I say. "He's really dead, and the Order really does need your help."

I look him in the eyes, daring him to enter my mind. Sure enough, a moment later, he comes into my head. I let down some of my walls and direct him toward the memory of Voldemort's death, holding back as many personal details about myself as possible.

About a minute later, he retreats.

"That was an authentic memory," he observes.

I nod. "It was."

He looks at me. "You… you were a Slytherin, weren't you?"

"Is it that easy to tell?"

"How could the Sword of Gryffindor have allowed _you_ to draw it from the hat?"

I frown—he should have seen that Potter was in my mind at that point in time. "Harry Potter was sharing minds with me."

"Yes, but it was still your body. Without being placed on your head, the Sorting Hat cannot have known that your body housed two consciousnesses."

"Then…" my voice fades.

I'm still convinced that the only reason why the Sword would have shown up was because Potter was in my head. And how could Potter have known that the Sword would be there in the first place? I realize that I still haven't had a chance to talk to him about what happened last night… I'll have to find time later.

"So Tom has really passed away," Langley says quietly.

I look up to see that he's turned back to face the window.

"Were you… friends with him?" I ask.

The answer is obvious, but it's a place to start.

"Yes," he says. "We were friends, once. But I wanted nothing to do with his plot to rule the world, and that put paid to it."

He looks pensive, and I wonder if he's thinking about the past.

"How many men do you need?"

I recall with a start that I'm here to ask for help. "As many as you're willing to dispatch," I reply.

"Well, then. Most of my men are not Death Eaters—I was Marked, but I would not let them suffer that fate if they did not wish it. I can give you thirty-five of my best. The rest I will keep here, to suppress the remnants of Tom's followers in my own country."

"Thank you, then. And the Russian Minister of Magic—"

"I will speak to him," Langley says. "You just make sure that Tom hasn't stashed away any more Horcruxes. It won't be pretty if he comes back and learns of our betrayals."

I nod. "I think he doesn't have any more, but I will keep a sharp eye out."

"You may go, if you wish. Just tell me where to send the men."

"Hogwarts."

"For whom should they ask, upon arrival?"

My charm burns against my chest, and I know that Hermione must be worrying about me. She'll probably be pissed that I disappeared without telling her first. But it's not as though I could have done anything about that—we were in the middle of a battle.

"Potter, Shacklebolt, or McGonagall," I reply to Langley. "The soldiers can say that I requested their assistance from you."

"And your name is Malfoy," he says to make sure.

"That's right."

"Very well. They will arrive by tomorrow morning."

"Again, thank you."

"No," he says. "I should be thanking you. Tom was my close friend, and when he strayed off the correct path, I chose not to stop him. Perhaps I wouldn't have made much of a difference, but I always wonder if things could have turned out differently, had I made the correct choices."

"The man was inherently evil," I say. "He didn't—"

"There was a time when he wasn't _evil_," Langley argues.

I shake my head. "The way I understand it, he showed dangerous tendencies even before learning of the magical world. You're not at fault for the way he turned out."

"Perhaps. I saw hope for him, but…"

The old man lets out a soft sigh, and when he turns toward me, his eyes are distant. It's as though he's hardly aware of my presence in the room.

"It was not to be," he finishes. Then he shakes himself out of his reverie and looks at me. "Good luck, Malfoy."

I want to stay and ask him more about his past, but it's clear that he's finished speaking to me.

"Good-bye," I say.

He waves his hand once, and the door behind me swings open. I exit the house the way I entered, and when I'm on the path outside, I glance back at the large building. Maybe one day I'll come back and ask to hear his story.

But right now, I don't have time to waste here.

At the end of the path, I tell Naree to show himself.

"Did Master get what he wanted?" the house-elf asks, looking up at me hopefully.

I've apparently spent so much of my time exhibiting insincere emotions that Naree can't tell the difference between faked and genuine gratitude. Either that, or he chose not to watch the conversation I had with Langley.

"Yes," I say. "Now let's go back to England."

His thin fingers curl around my wrist, and our surroundings dissipate.


	96. Chapter 96 H

**Author's Note:** So I really should be studying for finals…

Hey, if any of you guys are Supernatural fans, I'm actually working on a story for that right now. But it's about John Winchester. So Elm Treigh, if you're reading this, I decided to give it a shot after all, and thank you very much for the suggestion!

Anyway, here's the next chapter.

**Chapter 96**

I dive to the side and fire a well-aimed Stunning Spell at the Death Eater who'd just tried to kill me. He crumples. I hit the ground and immediately hop back up to my feet, countering a jinx that's coming in my direction.

I spin around and find myself back-to-back with Harry. A group of ten Death Eaters is surrounding us in this small alleyway.

Where is Draco? I saw him disappear moments ago, pursuing two rather large Death Eaters. I'd like to suspect that they were members of Voldemort's inner circle—why else would Draco be so interested in chasing them down?

I attack quickly and randomly, so that the Death Eaters around us won't be able to predict my next move. The charm around my neck bounces spells away when they come within a certain distance from me, and I make a mental note to thank Draco again, when this is all over. I really can't thank him enough.

The crowd surrounding us seems to get larger—I'm sure Harry's presence attracts attention from the Death Eaters. Our attacks become more rushed and frantic as they close in. We're only two people, and though my charm acts as a sort of shield, it doesn't really protect Harry.

Then a hole is blasted through the Death Eaters' ranks.

I take advantage of the distraction and Stun several more in the circle. A huge wall of fire blocks the Death Eaters from us, and I realize that I recognize this spell. But the last time I saw it, it was used against me.

I look over and see Nott gesturing for us to get out of the circle. Harry and I hurry over to him. Then Harry generates a strong gust of wind that blows the fire at the Death Eaters, burning them.

"Nice touch," Nott comments.

"Thanks."

As we continue to fight, the swarm of Death Eaters increases rapidly in size. It seems as though the stream of oncoming enemies is never-ending. Just how many followers does that foul wizard have?

I'm surprised by how well Nott falls into our pattern—if anything, he's smoothed out the rhythm between me and Harry. All of our backs are toward each other so that no one can sneak up on us, and our attacks can reach all angles.

A Killing Curse comes at me, and I deflect it to the side. It hits a Death Eater, who falls to the ground.

"Oi!" I hear Nott call out.

I turn in time to see a chain headed straight for my neck. Before I can react, Nott brings his arm up rapidly, hitting the chain and stopping its forward advance. But the chain wraps around his arm, and he's dragged away from me and Harry. Nott Vanishes the chains just as Greyback appears from the throng and starts to pounce at him.

I block several jinxes on my way to reach him, but it's futile. I aim a painful hex at Greyback, but it's too late—he Disapparates, taking Nott with him.

I curse, and my next attacks, fueled by anger, send my opponents flying high up into the air. I fight my way back to Harry, backing up against him.

"Is he gone?" he asks between two volleys of attacks.

We spin around, switching angles.

"Gone!" I reply.

"Not dead, though?"

A jet of green light comes straight at my head, and it's too late to deflect. Ducking would only make the spell hit Harry, so I tug him to the side, firing several hexes at the Death Eaters on that side of us so that they'll back out of our way.

"I don't think so!" I respond.

I blast several Death Eaters out of the way and charge through the opening, dragging Harry behind me. I hear him bark several curses at the Death Eaters following us. We emerge on a much larger street, with many more fighters.

The Weasley twins are teamed up against a horde of Death Eaters. Neville's on his own, dueling four of them. I catch a glimpse of Ginny and a few Ravenclaws sticking together in a group.

I spin and duck to avoid a few hexes coming toward me.

Tonks is fighting her own group of Death Eaters a bit farther off, and I briefly think of Lupin as I continue to dole out attacks. Is he doing any better? I hope so… But before I can put much thought to it, the fight demands my full attention.

I get separated from Harry in this larger area, and I soon find myself dueling three relatively unskilled fighters. I hit one of them with a Trip Jinx, and he stumbles and falls. The other two fire Killing Curses at me, but their attacks aren't very streamlined, which means they can't have cast the spell many times in the past. I Stun one of them, and the last one is suddenly thrown backwards.

A tall Death Eater steps out, clearly challenging me to a duel—his comrades around him move on to fight other Order members.

I train my wand on him, watching him warily. His stance and stature look familiar, but I can't identify him. I back up a few steps to put some distance between us.

After exchanging several hexes, he moves closer, seemingly frustrated by the fact that so many of his spells bounce off my shield. He reaches out to snatch my necklace, and I bring my wand down quickly, slashing his arm.

Meanwhile, the charm burns his hand, and he curses at the unexpected pain. Taking advantage of his surprise, I hit him in the face with a Stinging Jinx. Cursing again, he throws me backwards, and I collide with another Death Eater.

I Stun the man that I just crashed into and spin around just in time for the Death Eater to press the tip of his wand into my neck.

"Oh, what a perfect moment," he snarls.

And then I recognize his voice. "Macnair?"

I see surprise in his eyes.

"I have to admit that you're a quick one. It's really a shame that you're filthy."

"Stop runnin' that mouth o' yers, Macnair," a deep voice rumbles.

I can't believe my ears.

Before either of us have time to react, Macnair is lifted into the air and forcefully hurled across the street.

"Tha' was fer Buckbeak!"

"Hagrid!" I shout, barely able to contain my excitement.

It's been too long—_too_ long—and we were never sure if he was still alive and well.

Then a few weaker jinxes bounce off the enchantments from my charm, and I'm reminded of where I am. I spin around to continue fighting.

"Hagrid, why are you back?" I call out.

The half-giant bangs the heads of two nearby Death Eaters together, and they collapse to the ground. I don't envy the headaches they will likely have later.

"Kingsley found us," he replies. "Gave us the news, said Hogwarts was ours again."

I catch sight of several girls in what I recognize as Beauxbatons uniforms. Did they come with Hagrid from France, then?

"How's the fight in France?" I ask as I Stun two Death Eaters.

A burst of flame comes uncomfortably close to me, and I wonder if Draco's charm is wearing thin.

"Olympe is leadin' us well. We're drivin' 'em out," he reports.

A Stunning Spell bounces off my shield and goes for Hagrid, and I gasp. But he's unaffected—I suppose the giant blood in him allows him to withstand a simple Stunning Spell. He turns, snatches the Death Eater who fired the attack at me, and knocks him out by tapping his knuckles on his head. Well… tapping is perhaps a milder way to put it.

It's fantastic to see Hagrid again, and the reunion is made even better by the knowledge that the battle is going well for us in France.

There's hope yet that we'll win this war.

* * *

I'm standing just outside of McGonagall's office, waiting. Shacklebolt agreed to see me a few minutes ago, but he had to speak to Hagrid and didn't want us students to be worrying about the fight overseas. Apparently we're only supposed to care about what's going on at home.

I can't stop worrying about Draco. He disappeared from the fight—I haven't seen him since I got back to Hogwarts, either. I wrap my hand around the charm and send him a message: _Where are you?_

There's no immediate response.

I sigh and tap my foot against the ground impatiently.

The arrival of a large number of former Beauxbatons students counteracted the effects of the Death Eaters' numbers, and we were able to drive them out of London, capturing many in the process.

The dilemma now is that we don't have enough room to hold them all. The Ministry isn't in our control yet, so we don't have access to Azkaban, and we only have so many dungeons in Hogwarts. At the moment, Harry's downstairs in the dungeons, helping Lupin and Tonks in prioritizing Death Eaters from most harmful to least, in order to determine which ones _must_ be locked up, no matter what.

Then the charm burns against my chest, and I lift it up quickly.

_Don't worry, I'll be back soon._

I heave a sigh. Can he not be straight with me, for once?

Then the door opens, and Hagrid steps out. "Hello, Hermione," he says with a wide smile. "I'll be off, now."

I smile back. "Take care of yourself, Hagrid."

He nods and heads down the spiral staircase. I enter the room, knocking gently on the open door.

Shacklebolt smiles up at me from his seat at the desk. "Hermione," he says. "What did you need?"

I decide to get straight to the point. "Can I take some people with me to rescue Nott?" I ask. "He was taken in the fight in London."

"No," Shacklebolt says, much more readily than I'd expected. "He's—"

"I know he was a Death Eater, but he's turned—surely Professor McGonagall told you."

"One right does not erase all wrongs. He's been a Death Eater for far longer than he's been any help to us," Shacklebolt says.

"He's the reason why so many Death Eaters were captured last night. Is this really how the Order should be showing its gratitude?" I argue. "Who will turn to our side, if this is how we treat our helpers?"

"We do not have unlimited numbers , Hermione. If you want to go on a rescue mission, why not try to rescue one of our own? Lee and Alicia are still missing. So is Seamus. Theodore Nott is a Death Eater. He—"

"We wouldn't have—"

"Yes, I know how great his contribution was," Shacklebolt interrupts. "But that doesn't mean we should drop all to rescue him."

"That's not what I'm asking for. I just need a few people to help—"

"I'm sorry. I've made my decision."

"Fine. I'll find someone who will help me on my own," I say, turning around to leave the room.

I pause with my hand on the doorknob.

"I know that this hasn't been an easy war to fight," I say. "I may not have seen as many battles as you have, but I know what this war's done to us. To all of us. I understand that it's hard to forgive, or to accept a former Death Eater. But as leader of the Light, I expected more from you."

I exit the room before he can respond and hurry down the steps, heart pounding quickly. Shacklebolt was once very good-natured, but the war has made him much easier to anger.

When I'm sure that he hasn't followed me, I decide that he probably has more important things to worry about than a former student's opinion of him. But I hope that he won't hold it against me for too long. I never felt so strongly that he was being unjust, and I do think it was right to let him know.

I head toward the hospital wing quickly—I'm sure that Daphne Greengrass wouldn't object to helping me save Nott. They were friends back in school, I remember.

As I reach the hospital wing, I notice that it's extremely crowded. Did so many people get injured by the fight in London? But then I realize that St. Mungo's isn't ours anymore, and many Muggles were probably hurt before we arrived on the scene. And more could have been caught in the crossfire.

Heaving a sigh, I squeeze my way into the overcrowded ward and head for the cot that Blaise had occupied earlier today.

But upon reaching it, I find that a stranger is lying there, covered in blood. Two Ravenclaw girls are beside him—one is tending to his wounds, and the other is wiping away her tears.

I turn away and search for Madam Pomfrey—maybe Blaise was moved because there wasn't enough room. When I find her, she tells me that she released him because he was mostly recovered anyway—the creature had fortunately been easy to remove. I thank her and make my way out of the ward.

Where could they be?

I decide to go down to the dungeons and find Harry. If he has the Marauder's Map with him, then I'll be able to find Blaise on it—Greengrass will be with him, no doubt.

* * *

About ten minutes later, I'm heading toward the Potions classroom.

Sure enough, Harry had had the Marauder's Map with him and was willing to lend it to me so I could look for Blaise.

I knock on the door, and Greengrass opens it, looking annoyed.

"Was I interrupting?" I ask.

"No. Come in," Blaise says from within.

Greengrass steps out of the way, and I enter the room. She shuts the door behind me.

"Nott was captured by the Death Eaters," I say.

"Theo, you mean," Blaise says.

I nod.

"Damn. They know he's betrayed them. This is bad."

"We should rescue him," Greengrass says.

"My thoughts exactly. I think the Order owes him at least that much," I say.

"But Shacklebolt…"

"I already spoke to him. And no, he wouldn't let me take any of the reinforcements he brought."

"I thought so," Blaise says.

After a brief silence, I say, "Greengrass, do you have any idea where they might be keeping them?"

"I have no idea… Draco. Draco would know."

"I haven't been able to find him," I say.

"Did you—" Blaise begins.

"Of course I did. He just told me not to worry and that he'd be back soon."

Greengrass sighs. "And I'm guessing he didn't explain why he took off."

I shake my head.

"See what I mean?" she says. "He'll never open up to you, Granger."

"Don't say that, Daphne," Blaise says.

"Why not? It's true. There are things even _you_ don't know about him, I'm sure. I don't know how he hasn't gone mad yet, with all those secrets rattling around in his head."

"Sometimes I think he _is_ a little mental," Blaise says.

I hold back a sigh and look at the blackboard up at the front of the room, remembering the days when Snape had taught in this classroom. He was a nasty professor sometimes, but I liked him better than Professor Slughorn.

And then I try to remember Draco when he'd been in this class. It's so hard to picture him here—I hadn't paid much attention to him during our years at school. I hardly ever let my mind wander while the professor was speaking… It's sad to think that I have hardly any memories of him in class. I only come up with insults hurled at me and the boys between classes or around mealtimes.

"Hermione?"

I look back at Blaise and see that he's watching me.

"Don't give up on him, all right?" he says. "If anyone can make him change, it's you. And Merlin knows he _needs_ to change."

"I won't give up without a fight, but…"

"No buts, Hermione. Have more faith in him."

"Be realistic, why don't you?" Greengrass says.

I pull out my necklace. "I'll try asking him where he is again."

But before I can send anything to Draco, I notice that Blaise is giving Greengrass a warning look. She looks irritated and angles herself slightly away from Blaise, pointedly avoiding his gaze.

I sigh. "Do you two need a minute to talk or something? I can find someone else to—"

"We're fine," Blaise interrupts.

Then the door swings open, and Draco enters.

"No, you're not fine," he says.

I take two steps over to him, lifting an arm to punch him. He blocks it too easily, and frustrated, I lift my other arm to hit him, but he catches that fist as well.

"Oi! What did I do to you?"

"Don't you _dare_ disappear on me like that again," I tell him, settling for glaring at him. "Now let go of me."

He obediently releases my wrists. "You can't always be with me. And it was important."

I decide to put aside his disappearance for the time being, adding it to the ever-growing list of things that I have to discuss with him. His mother, his time in Russia, his overall inability to let down his guard around even the people closest to him…

"We're going to rescue Nott," I say. "He got captured."

Draco frowns. "How could he—was he in London?"

"Yes."

"That idiot. I told him to stay put until I got to him…"

"Theo wasn't ever good at sitting on the sidelines when he knew something was going on," Blaise says.

"Draco, do you know where to find him?" I ask.

"I have a pretty good guess," he says. "The Death Eaters are probably dealing with a lot of chaos right now. Proper imprisonment is the least of their worries. I'm willing to bet he's just being held at home."

"Let's go for it, then," Blaise says.

"_Can_ you go?" Draco asks.

Blaise nods. "Of course."

"You were stuck in a sick bed not more than a few hours ago, mate," Draco says, frowning.

"Madam Pomfrey said that it was all right for him to leave, so…" Greengrass says.

"I guess that's good enough for me," Draco says.

Remembering what Shacklebolt said to me earlier, I ask, "Do any of you know where they might be keeping Lee or Alicia? That is, Lee Jordan or Alicia Spinnet?"

"No," Draco says. "But we can ask Theo when we get to him. His father handled a lot of prisoners, so he might know something."

"We should probably strategize before we go," Greengrass says. "I don't like the idea of charging in and improvising."

I nod. "Draco, do you know how many people might be guarding him?"

"I'm pretty sure his father will be there. There may be a few more Death Eaters, but they won't be very powerful," he responds. "They're probably under the assumption that the Order won't care enough about a Death Eater to rescue him, even if he _has_ switched sides."

"How should we do this, then?" Blaise asks. "Create a distraction?"

"That might work," Draco says.

"If we're going to rescue Lee and Alicia, we might as well try to get them all in one trip," I say.

"I don't think that's a wise decision," Greengrass says. "I think it'll be much safer if we split up as little as possible. And if they're being held in different places, we'll have no choice but to split up."

"A little improvisation won't kill us," Draco says. "If it's easily done, we'll rescue them. If not, we won't."

Blaise nods. "All right. Draco and I know the layout of his house the best. Daphne, have you—"

"No, I've never been."

"I'll distract them, then," Draco says. "Blaise, you take Daphne and Hermione to—"

"We won't need three people just to grab a prisoner," I interrupt. "I'll stay with you."

"If Theo knows where Jordan and Spinnet are, you three could give it a shot, with Theo's help—you'll need him to open the cells," Draco reasons.

"Draco, you shouldn't take on them all by yourself. Let Hermione help you," Blaise says.

Greengrass nods her agreement.

"I'll be fine," Draco says. "If you end up having to storm a Death Eater camp, you'll need more people. And besides, Hermione, I don't want to have you too close to me—I don't want to have to save you from any damsel-in-distress scenarios."

Blaise chuckles, and I roll my eyes at him.

"Fine. We'll deal with that when the time comes," I say. "Does either of you two want to draw us a map of the place?"

"Yeah, all right. It'll be best if you have a general idea of where you are and where you're going," Blaise says.

Draco conjures a piece of parchment, and Blaise presses the tip of his wand to it. An image begins to form, and soon a rough blueprint is on the sheet. Draco looks it over, makes a few adjustments, and then holds it out to me and Greengrass.

"This is his room," Draco says, tapping a room with his finger. "I'm almost positive that that's where they'll be keeping him. Be careful, all right?"

The words are directed toward everyone, but his eyes burn into mine, and I know that he's most worried about me.

"We will," I say, unable to look away from him.

"Oh, isn't that romantic?" Blaise says teasingly.

"We can't Apparate onto the grounds unless we're traveling with a resident, so we'll have to enter on foot," Draco says, ignoring Blaise.

"How secure is—" Greengrass begins.

"The wards aren't as powerful as those around the Malfoy Manor, but they're pickier than my old place," Blaise says.

"Well… yeah. Your wards hardly kept anyone out," Greengrass says.

"Let's not get off-topic," Draco says. "We'll all cross together, but I want you three to stay under Disillusionment Charms. I'll fight my way toward Theo's room, and if more Death Eaters appear, then it means that that's probably where he is. I want you to go for it. Once you have a hold of him, you should be able to Disapparate out without a problem."

"And you?" Greengrass asks, voicing my sentiments before I've opened my mouth.

"Hermione can send me a message when it's time to go."

"And if something goes wrong?" I ask.

"Burn me twice in a row, and I'll know there's trouble," he says.

"But we should have something in mind," I say.

"We can't predict what will go wrong, so we can't exactly plan ahead," Draco replies.

"We'll be fine," Blaise says.

"Do we need any more help?" Greengrass asks.

"No. It'll be crowded enough with just the four of us. Any more people would only complicate things."

"I guess we should Floo out, then, for Draco," Blaise says.

"Are all the fireplaces still closed off?" Draco asks.

I nod. "It's not safe yet, not by a long shot. Especially after that attack on London."

"At least the attack was in the open this time. We were able to capture a lot of them, according to Harry," Blaise says.

"When did you talk to Harry?" I ask.

"We saw him organizing the prisoners down here," Greengrass responds.

We fall silent, and Draco looks at the three of us.

"Ready to go, then?" he asks.

We all nod, and Draco leads the way out of the room.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Would you guys like it better if I just told you how many chapters were left? Or would you prefer just getting surprised with "The End" at the end of one of the chapters? I'm just curious, haha.


	97. Chapter 97 H

**Author's Note:** I have my last final this Friday. YAY! I simply cannot wait. It is extremely exciting for me. Can't wait to be home with nothing to worry about… although I am now worrying a bit about _Meant to Be_. I feel like I'm running out of steam with that story (haven't looked at it for a while). Darn.

**Chapter 97**

I follow Draco toward the large house. Blaise and Greengrass are both to my left, but I can't see them anymore—we cast the Disillusionment Charms just after arriving.

Draco pauses. "On three, we cross. One, two, three."

He steps forward, and I move with him—the reason for this is so that we can fool the wards into detecting the entry of only one person. When the guards see Draco, they'll think he came alone.

Draco sprints toward the building, and I follow as quietly as possible. I can hear Blaise or Greengrass' footsteps right beside mine.

Then Nott Sr. appears from within the house, and Draco stops running to block a curse from him. I stop running and move off to the side to stay out of reach of the battle. A warm hand wraps around mine, and I recognize it as Blaise's.

As Draco blasts his way into the house, two more Death Eaters appear.

"Grab Daphne," Blaise hisses from somewhere to my left.

I reach out, groping for her, and come into contact with her arm. She stiffens, then lifts her hand up to grip mine. I squeeze Blaise's hand once—we should minimize our speech to avoid detection.

He leads us into the house, and we flatten against the far wall, skirting the fight. I watch as Draco defends himself against the three Death Eaters. Nott Sr. is by far the most skilled, but the other two aren't exactly untalented either. I feel worry begin to take root in my stomach, but I can't screw up our plan at this point.

_Please_, Draco, be careful.

Then we enter a hallway, and Draco's out of sight. We make several turns, and it's clear the Blaise knows exactly where he's going—I don't remember this being in the map, but I didn't have a lot of time to look it over.

Then we stop in a hallway, and I see two Death Eaters standing guard by a door, presumably the one that leads to Nott's bedroom.

I release Greengrass' hand and draw my wand, pointing it at one of the Death Eaters.

_Stupefy!_

The Death Eater crumples to the ground, and his partner spins in our direction just in time for another jet of red light, one that was fired from my right, to hit him in the face.

Blaise appears to my left and lets go of my hand. Greengrass and I both lift the charms on ourselves as we head toward the door. Blaise throws it open, and all three of us enter.

"What are you doing here?" Nott asks.

"Fetching you, you dolt. Come on," Blaise says.

"I can't leave this room."

"Can't? What do you mean, can't?" Blaise asks.

"I mean exactly what I said," Nott says.

"Why not?" Greengrass asks.

"They took my mother. My father gave her up. If I leave this room, they'll kill her."

"Who's in charge, now?" I ask.

"Bellatrix."

Blaise frowns. "Any idea where your mother might be?"

"Best guess? The Malfoy Manor, I suppose. The place is secure, and Bellatrix can guard it herself."

"We can't force him to leave, then," Greengrass says.

"We could rescue his mother," I say.

Nott stares at me. "Are you daft?"

"No. We should be able to do it," I say.

"If Bellatrix herself is there…" Blaise begins.

"They want me, in order to catch Draco. Am I right?" I say, looking at Nott. "I'd be the perfect distraction."

"No," Blaise says immediately. "You're not—"

"I won't go myself, Blaise. Just listen."

He sighs but obeys.

"Draco has stock Polyjuice Potion at his house. We can add a hair from my head and give it to one of the guards we just knocked out in the hall. Then we could—"

"Are you suggesting that we put them under the Imperius Curse?" Blaise says.

"No. I was thinking more along the lines of wiping his memories and planting false ones."

Nott sighs. "So you want to distract them. Well, say it works. How will you get her out? You need to be a Death Eater to open any of our cells."

"You're coming with us," I say.

He shakes his head. "If I leave this room—"

"Who's going to know?" Greengrass points out. "We've already subdued the two guards who could tell Bellatrix, and Draco's got the others busy. Come with us."

Blaise nods his agreement. "We should go."

"Go to the outskirts of the Malfoy Manor, near the entrance," I say. "I'll meet you."

"Hermione, don't—" Blaise begins.

"We can't take Nott into Draco's house, but we need Polyjuice Potion. I'll grab Draco, and we'll go back to get it."

"But—"

"We don't have time, Blaise. Just let her go," Greengrass says. "I'll get one of the guards from the hallway."

"Hermione, be careful," Blaise says as Greengrass leaves the room.

"Everyone's always telling me that. Do I really come off as such a reckless person?"

Blaise smiles, but it looks a bit forced. "See you soon," he says.

Greengrass returns with the guard and grabs Nott's arm. He holds out his hand for Blaise.

"Good luck," I say to the three of them.

"You, too," Greengrass says.

Then they Disapparate, and I exit the room.

In the hallway, I conjure ropes to bind the other Death Eater and take his wand away. Then I move back through the house, mirroring the path that we took to get here, and finally reach a spot where I have a view of the fight going on in the entrance hall.

Draco is dueling Nott Sr. mostly, paying less attention to the other two. As I lift my wand to help, two Killing Curses fly from the end of Draco's wand in quick succession, striking the two "lesser" Death Eaters with deadly accuracy.

But in that moment, an Impediment Jinx from the elder Nott strikes Draco in the chest, and chains wrap around him. Draco Vanishes the chains instantly, but Nott Sr. has already reached Draco and is pointing his wand right at Draco's neck.

I fire a Stunning Spell at Nott, who stiffens and then slumps to the ground.

Draco sidesteps the body and looks over at me.

"_Now_ who's the damsel in distress?" I say, smiling.

"Thank you, dashing prince," he quips. "Where are the others?"

"Nott said that we had to save his mother—your aunt took her to make sure that he wouldn't be going anywhere. We're going back to your place for Polyjuice Potion," I say.

He frowns, and I snatch his hand to lead him out of the house. It'd be best to finish all this business as quickly as possible.

"Who's going to be turning into whom, then?" Draco asks as I lead him toward the boundary.

"We knocked out a Death Eater. He'll become me to keep your aunt distracted so that we can hopefully snatch Mrs. Nott and get out of there," I reply.

Draco's quiet for a few beats.

Then he asks, "Who came up with this idea? You or Blaise?"

"Why couldn't it have been Nott or Greengrass?"

"It reeks of your way of thinking," Draco says as we reach the boundary.

I Disapparate, taking Draco with me. We appear in his living room, and he tells me to wait while he finds the potion in his kitchen—he knows his potion stores much better than I do, so I let him.

"Where are we meeting them?" he asks when he emerges about a minute later.

"I told them to go near the entrance."

He nods. "All right."

I pull a few strands of hair from my head. Draco opens the bottle, and I drop them inside. He caps the bottle again and takes my hand again.

"Draco, can you please stay here?"

He shakes his head. "I know the place best. I know exactly where… where she'd keep her prisoner."

I sigh, and Draco squeezes my hand.

"Ready?" he asks.

I lean up and kiss him once, twice. "Almost," I murmur against his lips before kissing him a third time.

He's smiling at me as I back away.

"Let's make this quick," he says.

I nod, and we Disapparate again. We appear outside the gates of the Manor, and Draco quickly leads me behind a small grove of trees.

"We already put Memory Charms on him," Blaise reports.

I'm almost surprised that Draco knew exactly where to find the others, but then I remember that Draco and Blaise practically grew up together. Of course he would know where Blaise would take Greengrass, Nott, and our decoy.

"Do you have the potion?" Blaise asks.

Draco passes the bottle to his friend, and together they force the guard to drink it. For safety, Blaise casts a Silencing Charm on him so that he won't be able to speak and ruin the illusion. Greengrass removes his wand to prevent him from Disapparating or lifting the charm to explain his condition—they may have altered his memory, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

"All right," Draco says. "We should probably maintain a chain, just to keep us all together. Blaise, keep a hold on our fake Hermione over there."

"As soon as anyone notices us, I'll lift the Charm on her—him. Got it," Blaise says.

"Come on, then."

Draco takes my hand, and I reach out for Nott's. He holds hands with Greengrass, whose other hand holds Blaise's. Maintaining Disillusionment Charms, we enter the Manor grounds—the wards don't detect us because we're all attached to Draco.

We manage to reach the Manor undetected, but in order to enter the building, we'll have to make some noise. Draco throws open the doors, and all of us rush inside. Three masked Death Eaters notice the sound and come toward the entrance.

Suddenly, a duplicate of myself appears and, bewildered, races out of the Manor. The Death Eaters chase "her" outside.

We stay still for a moment before Draco starts moving again, leading us through the Manor quickly and silently. It seems eerily empty, and I wonder if it's always like this. The last time I was here, I only really saw the interior of one room…

Avoiding those memories, I follow him down a flight of steps to a door. He opens it soundlessly, and we walk down some more stairs until we're in a corridor with steel doors set in the walls on either side. Clearly, we're in the dungeons.

Fenrir Greyback is standing in the hall when we enter, and he looks at the door warily, drawing his wand.

"Who's there?" he demands.

He prowls toward the foot of the stairs carefully, and I can see that he's inhaling deeply, trying to discern our identities by our scent. Thankfully, our combined scent should be enough to confuse him.

A Stunning Spell hits him in the chest, and I can tell it's from Draco, up front. I release Nott's hand to fire another, and two more immediately follow. The werewolf had remained standing after Draco's Stunning Spell, but the next three knock him off his feet, and he falls heavily to the ground.

We hurry down the hall, checking the cells for Mrs. Nott.

Then a huge flood of water sprays down the hallway, and all of us are drenched, dripping wet. I look in the direction of the spray and see that Bellatrix is standing in the doorway.

"Well, well, well," she says, smiling maniacally. "What have we here?"

I realize that she'll be able to tell where we are from the sound of water dripping from our clothing and quickly cast a silent Drying Charm on myself. I can tell that the others have thought of that as well because all of the dripping stops almost instantaneously.

A cell door just a bit farther down the hallway from me swings open, and Bellatrix lifts her wand, pointing toward it. I immediately leap to the entrance of the cell, hoping to block whoever it was that opened the door.

A blue jet of light is deflected by my charm, and the witch's eyes narrow.

"Granger is here," she says quietly, mostly to herself. Then she says, "Draco? Are you hiding here? There's an Anti-Disapparition Jinx all around the grounds. You won't be able to leave."

As she finishes speaking, Bellatrix moves onto the first step and shuts the door, sealing it behind her.

Then a large hand—I recognize it as Draco's from the smooth feel of his skin and the firmness of his grip—grabs onto mine and pulls me into the open cell.

Inside, I see a middle-aged woman leaning heavily on Nott, who is now visible. Blaise and Greengrass make themselves visible, and I follow suit, lifting the Disillusionment Charm on myself.

"What do we do?" I mouth.

The others shake their heads at me, looking worried.

I notice that Draco's still under a Disillusionment Charm and frown, looking around. Bellatrix's heels clack loudly against the ground as she moves closer, and I grip my wand tightly, preparing to face her.

"I'm over here."

That's Draco's voice.

And he's clearly _outside_ the cell.

My eyes widen, and I move for the door, but Blaise snatches my arm and holds me back.

"We need to stop meeting like this, dear Draco," I hear Bellatrix say as her footsteps stop.

Naree appears with a loud crack that echoes through the dungeons, and outside, Bellatrix takes two steps toward our cell. But there's a crashing sound, and then flashes of light can be seen outside, indicative of a duel.

"Everyone hold hands," Naree whispers, taking my hand. "Master has ordered Naree to take you all back to safety."

When did he do _that?_

But before I can voice my question or break Naree's grip on my hand, it's already happening—Blaise, who still has a firm grip on my arm, takes Greengrass' hand. She in turn gets a hold of Nott, who's still supporting his mother's weight.

Then we've Disapparated, and the next thing I see is the Forbidden Forest.

"Naree, go back for him. Now," I say.

"Master told Naree to wait until he was called for."

"Why?" I demand.

"Naree does not question orders."

"Just _go!_ Do you want him to die?" I say.

The elf shakes his head, eyes wide as he considers disobeying his master. He seems to trust me, and I hope that it's enough for him to go back for Draco—_now_. Then he nods his head once, quickly, and Disapparates.

Thank goodness.

We enter the Hogwarts boundary, but Nott stops at the edge, remembering just in time that he won't be able to cross.

"Mate, I'll take your mother to the hospital wing," Blaise says, turning back and taking Mrs. Nott's weight.

"No, I'll do it," Greengrass says. "You should convince McGonagall to let Theo come onto the grounds."

Blaise allows Greengrass to take Mrs. Nott from him. "Go to the Hog's Head," he says to Nott. "You should find an operating fireplace to use there."

Nott nods and Disapparates.

Then Blaise taps my shoulder. "Come on. We'll go talk to McGonagall or Shacklebolt together."

I turn away from the boundary reluctantly, wishing that I could have gone to help Naree retrieve Draco. But going with the elf would likely slow him down or distract him… and besides, house-elves are quick. He could be in and out of that dungeon in seconds.

We hurry toward the castle, and Justin Finch-Fletchley appears as we get close to Greengrass and Mrs. Nott.

"Help them up to the hospital wing," I tell him.

"But—" he begins.

"Just do it, mate," Blaise says, hardly slowing his pace.

"There's hardly any room left up there," Justin says. "Madam Pomfrey—"

"She'll make more room if she needs it," Blaise says.

We continue rapidly up toward the castle. I suppose there really isn't _too_ much of an emergency going on, but it's best if we get Nott to safety—onto the grounds—as soon as possible, since he's become a turncoat, like Draco.

"I have a bad feeling that Shacklebolt might not let him in," Blaise says as we enter the castle.

"Then we'll talk to McGonagall," I say. "And if she won't let him in, Harry definitely will."

Blaise nods and starts up the staircase. "Right. Come on, then."

I follow him up, praying that Naree has reached Draco and that they're safely at his cottage by now…

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, about whether or not to warn you guys ahead of time, I have counted up your reviews (hahaha it was almost like voting!), and 20 wanted either to know how many were left, or to at least get a warning at the end, while 8 wanted a surprise. The rest either didn't specify or just said they didn't want the story to end (which is uber sweet… I don't want it to end either!).

I suppose I'll surprise you guys when I'm at the second to last chapter, how about that? I'll say UNO! And you'll know there's one more left :P (if you guys have never played the card game Uno before, then that will probably make no sense).


	98. Chapter 98 D

**Author's Note:** So… I'm finally HOME! I've been gone for almost six full months, to the day, and it feels amazing to be back. It's wonderful to get back and have someone to look after me, hahaha. And I missed my mom's cooking sooo much. Needless to say, I am in a fantastic mood… but I sort of forgot about this for a bit! Sorry about that… *cringes guiltily*

Here's the next chapter! I think it should be a pretty good length.

**Chapter 98**

I pull Hermione into the cell and quickly slip out—I know she won't like the idea of me staying behind, but I need to speak to my aunt alone, and this may very well be my last chance to, if things don't go well.

I skirt Greyback's unconscious body and silently move toward the exit, passing right by Aunt Bella. She gets closer to the cell, and I know I need to stop her.

"I'm over here," I say, removing the Disillusionment Charm.

She spins around, and our eyes meet.

"We need to stop meeting like this, dear Draco," she says.

I give her a small smile. Seems like she misses the old times, when I was just her obedient little nephew.

I hear a crack signaling Naree's Apparition into the cell. Aunt Bella turns toward the source of the noise, but I hit her with a Stinging Jinx, and she spins around, firing a bright purple pulse of energy at me. I recognize it as her trademark tentacle curse. I block the curse and retaliate with a few of my own favorites.

One of them causes a fungus to grow in the victim's stomach, eating away the stomach lining. The acids of the stomach will corrode the stomach walls and begin to digest the rest of their bodies. Another turns the hairs on the victim's head into snakes that attack him, and each other.

Creation of these curses was part of my training—Voldemort valued creativity immensely. I'm surprised that Potter only commented on the intestines curse, but maybe he didn't dig deep enough.

I exchange curses with Aunt Bella quickly, with some effort.

Then I spin out of the way of a volley of attacks and create a powerful shield around myself.

"Stop, Aunt Bella."

She pauses with her wand pointed at me, watching me warily.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask her. "Voldemort's dead. He was the only one keeping you from releasing me. From doing the right thing. Now that he's gone, you don't have to do this anymore."

"Draco, Draco, Draco. I thought you would have known this, given the length of time you've been fighting in this war," she says, shaking her head. "I _hate_ the Order of the Phoenix. I wasn't only fighting for the Dark Lord. I was also fighting against them. His death doesn't diminish—"

"It's because of Frank Longbottom, isn't it?" I say.

Her eyes widen. "How did you—"

"Never mind how I know. Just… couldn't you give all this up? You could—"

"What, turn traitor against my own beliefs? Help you defeat the Death Eaters? For what? All I'll get is a life sentence in Azkaban. Or, even better, the Dementor's Kiss. Is that what you want for me?"

Silence follows her words.

I can't deny that only hatred exists between Aunt Bella and the members of the Order. She's done truly horrible things, things that people aren't likely to forgive and forget. Potter is the only one who's seen the other side of her, and despite how much he's matured, I'm fairly certain he won't be able to forgive her for killing his godfather.

"What, then?" I ask. "How is this going to end?"

"I don't know," she admits in a quiet voice.

Then Naree appears, and before either of us has any time to react, he grabs my wrist and Disapparates, taking me with him.

When I open my eyes, I'm standing in my living room.

I turn to the small elf, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. "Naree, I thought I told you to wait until—"

"Naree is sorry, Master!"

I sigh and pace the length of my living room twice to calm myself before turning and facing him again. "Why did you come early?"

"Miss Granger said that Master was in danger. Naree didn't want Master to die."

I shake my head. "Don't listen to her anymore. She's always doing the opposite of what I want…"

"Naree is very sorry, Master. It will not happen again."

I wave my hand dismissively, unable to put my frustration aside to tell him in words that it's okay. Then my charm heats up, and I read the message from Hermione: _Are you ok?_ With a sigh, I reply, _Fine_.

The fireplace bursts into life after I send my message, and Hermione's face appears.

"Come over," she says.

I hesitate and glance at the small elf. "You can go," I tell him.

He bows low and moves into my bedroom. I wonder what he'll do in his downtime, now that he doesn't have a whole Manor to help clean. Then I turn and step into the flames.

I come out of the fireplace in the Headmaster's office and see that the room is empty except for Hermione, Blaise, and Theo.

"Where's McGonagall?" I ask.

"Everyone's busy setting up temporary living arrangements," Hermione tells me. "Hagrid arrived with reinforcements from Beauxbatons."

"I forgot to ask—where'd you disappear to, before we went to rescue Theo?" Blaise asks.

"I went to Russia to get us some more manpower," I say.

Hermione looks interested, probably because I just mentioned Russia.

"How'd that go?" Blaise asks.

"Fine. Thirty-five fighters should be arriving by tomorrow morning."

"Sounds good."

"All right, Draco's here. Can I go see my mother now?" Theo asks.

"We can check, but I doubt Madam Pomfrey's going to let you talk to her," Hermione says.

"Be patient, mate," Blaise says. "She wasn't in mortal danger. You'll be able to talk to her in the morning, I'm sure."

Theo sighs.

"We can still go to the hospital wing and check, if you want," Hermione offers.

I realize that they don't trust Theo enough to let him roam around Hogwarts without an escort. This fact only irks me slightly—I guess he _does_ have the Dark Mark branded into his arm.

We leave the office and head for the hospital wing, and I feel like I've made this trek too many times in the past day or so.

As we near the hospital wing, Mrs. Weasley appears from a side corridor, and we stop.

"You two go on," Hermione says, waving Blaise and Theo on.

They glance at each other but continue down the hallway.

I hold back a frown and smile at the woman. "Mrs. Weasley," I say politely.

"Mr. Malfoy," she says. Her tone is cold. Then she looks at Hermione and says, "I saw you two together at the celebration, and I heard some things about your situation from the twins, and from Ginny. They seem to think… that this is what's best for you."

I sense a "but" coming and tense up slightly. As though sensing my discomfort, Hermione's hand finds mine.

"Mrs. Weasley," she says, "Draco and I—"

"Yes, I understand," Mrs. Weasley says. "I was young once before, as hard to believe as that may be. Where else would seven children have come from?"

I notice the slight blush rising on Hermione's cheeks and squeeze her hand, holding back a grin.

"I just wanted to tell you that I… that I wish you well," Mrs. Weasley continues. "I would have loved to have you as a daughter-in-law, but I suppose you're practically my daughter already, anyway. And I want you to be happy."

Hermione smiles. "Oh, Mrs. Weasley."

"Call me Molly, dear."

Hermione releases my hand to give the woman a hug.

When they break apart, Mrs. Weasley gives me a stern look. "If you break her heart, you'll have us to contend with."

I smirk. "Wow, Hermione. Looks like I've gotten myself into a bit of a mess now, haven't I? I've already gotten threats from Blaise, and Potter briefly, and now the whole Weasley clan."

Hermione smiles at me. "You'd better be careful with me, then," she says.

"I'm nothing but careful with you," I reply, smiling innocently.

"Well, I'll be going, then," Mrs. Weasley says.

"Thank you, Molly," Hermione says.

"You're welcome, dear."

Mrs. Weasley leaves the way she came, and Theo and Blaise return—what perfect timing.

"You were right, Granger. Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let me into the ward. Said it was too crowded," Theo reports.

"Oh, and she wants your help to get more plants for potions. Her stocks are running low," Blaise says.

"What about Neville?" Hermione asks. "He could help too—he's talented in Herbology."

"She doesn't know where he is. She asked for you because you're always with me," Blaise replies.

"All right, then," Hermione says. She looks up at me. "Do you want to come?"

I frown. "To look at plants? Not particularly."

Blaise laughs. "None of us in Slytherin liked Herbology much."

"Well… it's been a rough two days for all of us. You should rest. I'll see what Madam Pomfrey needs."

"Come over when you're finished," I tell her.

She smiles. "I will."

She leans up to give me a quick kiss, and Theo wolf-whistles.

"Thanks, Theo," I say sarcastically.

Hermione smiles again. "It seems your friends approve of me."

I grin. "Yeah. My friends are much friendlier than yours, surprisingly."

"That's only because they already know that you're far more likely to hurt me than I am to hurt you," she replies.

"You keep telling yourself that."

"Oh, get a room, you two," Theo says.

Hermione laughs. "Bye, boys."

"Bye," Blaise and I say simultaneously.

She turns and walks away, toward the hospital wing.

"Have you—" Blaise begins when she's out of earshot.

"No, I haven't," I cut him off. "I'll talk to her when I'm ready."

"Talk to her about what?" Theo asks.

"Nothing," I say.

"Draco's mother was killed by his aunt," Blaise says, sounding exasperated.

"That's—that's _true?_"

I nod. "Can we not do this? I don't want to talk about it."

"All right," Theo says.

We're quiet for a moment.

"It's been a while since the three of us were alone together, hasn't it?" Blaise says.

I glance at Theo. "Come on," I say, starting back the way we'd come.

Blaise and Theo follow without question, and it almost feels as though we're students at Hogwarts again. Back then, they'd also followed me, trusted me to provide fun and avoid getting caught—at least, most of the time. Those days won't ever come back, will they?

We reach the Headmaster's office again, and I drop a fistful of Floo Powder into the fireplace.

"Draco… are you sure about this?" Theo asks.

So he knows where we're about to go.

"It's about time," I say. "You're one of my best mates. It's ridiculous that Potter and the Weasel got to see my place before you did. Come on."

Blaise steps through first, and I hold onto Theo's shoulder, guiding him past the protection of the Fidelius Charm. On the other side, I close the Floo connection.

Theo looks around. "So this is where you were all those times that I Flooed."

I nod. "Every time."

"I'm…" he begins, but he stops himself.

"Go on."

"You're going to call me a sentimental fool," he says.

I chuckle. "I'll keep my mouth shut. Promise."

He eyes me distrustfully for a moment. Then he says, "It… means a lot to me that you'd finally let me in here. I thought the day would never come."

I open my mouth.

"_Don't_," he says.

"I was only going to say that I'm glad you realize the significance of this place, for me," I say, grinning.

"You two are making me feel left out," Blaise says, mock-pouting.

"Quit whining. He took you here way before me."

A grin wipes away the fake pout, and Blaise says, "That's true. Draco, you shouldn't play favorites so blatantly, should you?"

"Why are _you_ complaining? You have preferential treatment from both me _and_ Theo," I say.

"Hey, when did I—" Theo begins.

"Given the choice, you chose to save him," I say.

"That's not fair," Theo protests. "I saw the Dark Mark on your arm and panicked. Didn't I choose to join you when the time came?"

"You went _voluntarily?_" Blaise says, frowning.

"Well, I…"

"You left me out there all alone, to fend for myself, _intentionally?_"

"I'm sorry," Theo says, quailing under Blaise's glare.

"All right, Blaise, knock it off. You know he can't tell when you're joking," I say.

Theo's eyes widen. Then he says, "You're joking?"

Blaise's glare disappears, and he chuckles. "Of course I am."

He ducks behind me to evade Theo's punch, and we all share a laugh.

"It's almost like old times," Theo says, smiling as he heads toward the couch. He gestures as if to say, "May I?"

I nod, and he takes a seat.

"Blaise, how've you been all this time, _really?_ No more jokes."

Blaise shrugs. "Could have been better," he says, stepping out from behind me.

I smirk. "No way. I thought you were living the dream," I say sarcastically.

"How do you know I wasn't?" Blaise counters.

Ignoring our comments, Theo looks at me and asks, "What's the deal with you and Granger?"

I keep emotion off my face, thinking about what to tell him. But before I can respond, he looks at Blaise's face and comes to a realization.

"No," he says. "No, you're kidding. Hermione Granger? _That_ was the girl Draco—"

"It'd be wise for you to stop right there, mate," I say.

Theo just looks at Blaise, and I turn my eyes to him as well.

"I thought I told you not to—"

"Hey, true to my promise, I never mentioned her name," Blaise says, holding up his hands. "You saw Theo's reaction, didn't you?"

I shake my head.

Blaise grins. "The fact that you allowed for a loophole like that shows just how smitten you were, doesn't it?"

"Keep it up, Blaise. Just keep it up," I growl.

"You've gotta admit you missed having me around for those three years."

I shake my head again, and his grin widens. "Nah, I didn't think of you once," I say.

Before Blaise can respond, Theo jumps in. "It's okay, Blaise. I thought of you all the time."

"Thank you, Theo, but it just isn't the same."

"Oh, I see how it is," Theo says.

We're quiet for a moment, all grinning like idiots, and I feel like a schoolboy. I missed having conversations that meant absolutely nothing, talking about trivial things. Too much time has been spent on the war, on Horcruxes, on Voldemort, on the Death Eaters. It's so nice to take a step back and think about other things.

"Do you remember the night that we snuck out to go flying?" Blaise says.

"Oh, you mean the night that the Whomping Willow nearly killed me? How could I forget?" Theo replies.

I chuckle. "How was I supposed to know that it'd come to life? Nothing happened when I flew past it."

"Yeah, because you were the one who woke it up. It was awake by the time I got to it."

"At least you got out of detention," Blaise says. "Snape had us scrubbing cauldrons for _hours_."

"Sure, but I was in the hospital wing for a week."

"Yeah, we know. You made us visit every day," I say.

"At least I didn't tell you to bring flowers."

Blaise laughs. "You had enough of those already. Pansy brought them by every day."

"Only because she wanted more of Draco's attention."

I shake my head, "Let's not. I'd rather avoid thinking about her."

"Does she remind you of things that you want to forget?" Blaise asks.

"Does Daphne?" I shoot back.

Blaise's grin fades instantly, and I want to kick myself.

"Sorry—that was a reflex."

"That's okay. I was asking for it," he says.

"But speaking of Daphne…" I say, looking at Theo. "When I contacted her in your form, Astoria said—"

"Astoria's thick," Theo interrupts. "You know that it's not true. You said yourself that she's a habitual liar."

I frown. When did I ever say that?

"Actually, I was the one who said that," Blaise says, clearing it up for me. "I was pretending to be Draco the time that you caught me sitting on his couch."

Theo's brow furrows. "Oh… when Draco said that he was practicing his Human Transfiguration… that was actually you, Blaise?"

Blaise nods.

"Okay, we're off topic," I say. "Theo, how could you know what Astoria told me?"

"Because she brought it up with me before," Theo says.

"What're you two on about?" Blaise asks.

"You're lying, Theo. I don't like it when you do that," I say, ignoring Blaise's question.

Theo's jaw clenches, and he looks down at his hands. "It's nothing."

Proving once again that he's probably the most perspicacious bastard on the planet, Blaise says softly, "You like Daphne."

"No," Theo says.

Blaise frowns. "How… how long?"

Theo shakes his head. "I don't—"

"You can lie to anyone, but you can't get a lie past the two of us, mate," I tell him.

He sighs. "Fine. I fancy her. But she doesn't care about me, not in the same way that I care about her. Happy now?"

"No," Blaise says, shaking his head.

"Sorry," I say, unsure which friend I'm talking to. Both, I suppose.

"What're _you_ saying sorry for?" Theo asks, and I can sense that this is going to be a jab at me. "At least my girl was in the right standing. You fell for a Mudblood."

"That's irrelevant to me, at this point," I say.

He shrugs.

"Theo," Blaise says, "in sixth year, did you…?"

No one speaks for a long moment.

Blaise sighs and looks at the ground. "Shit."

"You didn't know," I say.

"I should have," he says. "Theo, mate, you should have said something."

"What could I have said? You couldn't be stopped, once you got an idea like that into your head," Theo says, a hint of bitterness entering his tone. "You wouldn't have stopped."

"Yes, I would have. For either of you two, I would have."

"And risk your reputation? I don't think so," Theo says.

"Hey, hey, let's not get into a fight here," I say.

Blaise nods. "I see where you're coming from, Theo. But I know myself. I would have—"

"What's the use in saying that now? It's too late to change anything," Theo says.

"It's hard to believe that we didn't notice your emotions," I say. "You must have been more closed-off back then."

Blaise shakes his head. "No. We were both too distracted. I couldn't see anything outside of my goal, and you couldn't see anything other than Hermione. And your mission."

"But you still found out about my attraction to Hermione," I say.

"You're getting old, Draco. That happened in fifth year."

"Right."

"Theo, I—"

Theo sighs tiredly. "Just stop it. It's been done already, so just don't bring it up anymore."

Blaise looks at the ground, and I know what he's thinking. If he hadn't been so adamant in winning Daphne over, maybe she would have given Theo a chance. But how does he know that Daphne would have decided to like Theo in the end, anyway?

"It's getting late," I say. "You two can take the guest room over there."

"All right," Blaise says, moving toward the guest room.

Theo gets to his feet and follows.

"No fighting under my roof, got it?" I call after them, grinning.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll behave," Theo says, turning back to roll his eyes at me.

Then the door closes behind them, and I move into my bedroom. Naree's gone, and I wonder where he went.

"Naree!" I call out.

He appears with a crack. "Yes, Master?"

"I want you to go to Hogwarts and help out the house-elves there with whatever they're working on."

"For how long, Master?"

"Until I call for you again. You'll take orders from Professor McGonagall for now, all right?"

He nods. "Yes, Master."

"Go on, then."

He Disapparates, and I sit down on my bed, wondering when Hermione will be back.

* * *

A burn on my chest jolts me awake, and I sit up suddenly, massaging the spot.

Then I realize that it was my necklace. I lift the charm and squint at it for a moment in the dark before giving up and lighting the tip of my wand.

The message wipes any hint of grogginess from my mind: _Help, ambush_.

Fuck!

I leap out of bed and Summon my basin from the bathroom. I remember to open the door just as the basin bangs against it. I grab the large bowl and place it on the nightstand. A moment later, I press shaking fingertips to the surface of the water.

Hermione's image appears at what I recognize as the outer edge of the Forbidden Forest. Sure enough, she's surrounded by a group of four Death Eaters.

Bloody hell.

Then her surroundings blur, and I realize that she's Disapparating. With a jolt, I realize that she's outside the Anti-Disapparition Jinx around Hogwarts.

No shit. Death Eaters are there—of _course_ she's not on the grounds.

I wait for her surroundings to solidify again before Disapparating.

Hang in there, Hermione. I'm coming.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yeah, yeah, I know, cliffhanger. Apologies all around. I'll make sure to get the next chapter up quickly.

By the way, I'm like completely addicted to tumblr right now. I'm mostly just following Supernatural stuff at the moment, but if you guys know some really good Dramione blogs, I'd totally be interested in getting your recommendations of people to follow.


	99. Chapter 99 H

**Author's Note:** I don't know how well this chapter is gonna go over with you guys… but I guess I'll just have to wait and see. I've considered rewriting it so many times. I actually have a few rewritten versions of it. But I'm keeping to my original plot. Yep.

**Chapter 99**

I squat down and look closely at the small plants growing at the base of a very thick tree. I haven't crossed the boundary around Hogwarts, but I can tell I'm getting close. The herb that I'm looking for is very rare, used in conjunction with Mandrake roots to create Mandrake Restorative Draughts.

Apparently, one of the Death Eaters in London was able to completely petrify several people. I'm assuming that he had to be one of the most powerful Death Eaters, because I haven't heard of any cause of petrification other than the stare of the basilisk. Of course, that's if you discount Transmogrifian Torture, which is most likely something that Gilderoy Lockhart made up on the spot…

I suppose there's also a Petrifying spell, but it doesn't truly turn the victim _into_ stone—it only immobilizes the victim and turns his or her skin a pale color that _looks_ like stone.

But I shouldn't be thinking about these things—I'm getting distracted.

As I turn my attention back to the small green clumps on the ground, I hear a loud scream, followed by cries for help.

I straighten, trying to remember who's on duty right now. The voice is coming from outside the grounds, and I can't help but suspect that this could be a trap.

But then Hannah Abbott sprints into view, heading for the Hogwarts boundary. Two Death Eaters suddenly pop into existence just outside the boundary, blocking her way, and she backpedals rapidly.

I fire a Stunning Spell at one of them, but he dodges out of the way, and both of them chase after Hannah. Cursing, I cross the boundary, firing hexes in an attempt to get them away from her.

This could be a trap. It's probably a trap. Damn it, I shouldn't have crossed the boundary.

But it's too late at this point, and I can't just let Hannah die.

She manages to hit one of them with an Impediment Jinx, but she's thrown off her feet by a Trip Jinx, and I throw a few hexes at the moving Death Eater. He turns around to face me as his comrade recovers from the Impediment Jinx, and I have to block a nasty Bat Bogey Hex from him. A third Death Eater appears and joins the fight against me.

Hannah gets back to her feet and comes toward me, clearly intending to help me out.

"Go!" I shout at her. "Go back to Hogwarts and get help!"

She pauses mid-step, then veers to her right, sprinting back toward safety. The immobilized Death Eater regains use of his limbs and chases her toward the boundary, and I hope that she can make it through in time.

The two Death Eaters shift so that they're between me and the castle, not allowing me to get between or around them. I backtrack a little, hoping that if we get farther into the woods, I'll be able to trick them into losing their sense of direction. The downside is that _I_ may lose my sense of direction as well. I'll just have to hope that I'm smarter than they are.

The third Death Eater returns, and while I'm disappointed that I'll have three opponents instead of two, this is a good indication that Hannah made it back safely, and that reinforcements will be coming to help me soon.

Then I realize that I'm outside Hogwarts' boundaries and therefore am not impeded by the Anti-Disapparition Jinx. Of _course!_

I Apparate to the opposite end of the grounds, intending to get back to safety that way. But as soon as I appear, five Death Eaters close in on me. Panicking, I Apparate again to a third location, but there are three Death Eaters waiting there for me.

They must be covering the perimeter very, _very_ well.

As I fend off these three Death Eaters, I consider my options. In all likelihood, any random point that I choose along the boundary of Hogwarts will be guarded by Death Eaters. How many of them _are_ there? Did they also pull in reinforcements from abroad?

I decide to return to my original position—friends from the castle should be getting there soon, if Hannah made it. I Apparate to the place where I'd first encountered the Death Eaters. Instead of three opponents, there are now four, and I have to work hard to keep up with their attacks.

Then a Stinging Jinx grazes my upper arm, and I realize that the enchantments on Draco's charm must be wearing thin—the fight in London has to have worn them down quite a bit.

Damn. Is help coming or not?

Continuing to fire hexes rapidly, I reach up with my left hand and tug on the chain around my neck, pulling out the heart-shaped charm. I wrap my fist around it and send a message for help.

A Killing Curse comes directly at me, and panicking, I Disapparate.

Unsurprisingly, there are three Death Eaters ready and waiting at the new location. I can't help but wonder what the point is. They haven't asked for anything from me, and except for that one Killing Curse earlier, they haven't been aiming to kill. They seem to be content with just preventing me from getting back to safety.

And then it hits me.

What if this trap is for Draco? I imagine Bellatrix would be infuriated that her nephew turned against Voldemort. Surely she'd want to capture him to exact revenge. And if these Death Eaters aren't interested in killing or capturing me, then they must be after someone else, most likely Draco.

I give up on thinking ahead for the moment, focusing instead of defending myself from attacks—if Draco's charm is wearing off, I'll have to be even quicker to make sure I'm not taken out.

Then Draco appears only a few feet from me, Disarming two of the Death Eaters and stepping toward me. Two Stunning Spells come straight at me, and I back up three steps to get out of range. In the same instant, a horde of Death Eaters appears, closing in around us.

Draco sweeps his wand in a long arc, throwing back about a dozen of them. Then he rushes over to me and grabs my hand. He Disapparates, taking me with him. But just as we're leaving, a hand wraps around my upper arm and hangs on.

We appear in a stretch of woods that looks unfamiliar to me. I immediately brush the hand off my arm and spin, firing a Hurling Hex at the person who'd been holding onto me. The Death Eater dodges out of the way, and I see that three more followed us by getting a hold of him just as he caught onto me.

Draco notices the tagalongs and rapidly fires two Killing Curses. As grateful as I am that he was able to pull me out of there, it's a little bit scary to think that he immediately goes for the kill.

We duel with the two remaining Death Eaters, and it quickly becomes clear that these two are much more skilled than the others. I wonder if we're going up against two members of Voldemort's inner circle. I can tell that this isn't Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle, or Dolohov—the first three I recognize by dueling style and physical stature, and Dolohov… I'll always remember his mask.

So who could these two be?

Then the Death Eater who's dueling Draco whips his mask off, and his hood falls back, revealing long, flowing, black hair, and I realize that it's not a "he" at all. This is Bellatrix Lestrange.

A twinge of panic rises in my chest as I see her face, and the Death Eater that I'm up against takes advantage of my distraction—when I look back in his direction, two sets of chains are already coming at me, beginning to wrap around me.

I Vanish them wordlessly, using the skills that I've been working on for the past weeks. My quick reaction seems to surprise him, and I manage to pin him with an Impediment Jinx, followed immediately by a Stunning Spell.

As my opponent falls to the ground, something in my peripheral vision catches my attention, and I turn my head in time to see a stream of maroon light blossoming from the tip of Bellatrix's wand, heading in my direction.

But a dark gold jet of light intersects the attack, melting some of it away, and Draco steps in front of me. I grab onto his arm, trying to pull him out of the way, but it's too late—the stream of light hits him square in the chest, and a cry tears from his lips.

The maroon light dissipates, and Draco slumps backward against me, seemingly unconscious. I keep a firm grip on my wand and use my other arm in an attempt to support him.

As I Disapparate, I see a look of real terror on Bellatrix's face, and I feel like I've just been dunked into ice-cold water. What was that spell?

What has she done to Draco?

* * *

I levitate Draco onto his bed and quickly start searching for any marks on him. But his chest looks fine where he was struck by the spell. I try a Reviving Spell on him, and his eyelids flutter.

"Draco? Draco, can you hear me?"

"Yeah," he mutters.

"Do you know what spell your aunt used on you?" I ask.

He opens his mouth to speak but starts coughing instead, and I cast a spell to clear his airway. He turns his head away from me and spits some blood out of his mouth, then turns to face me, his eyes cracked open just a little. He starts lifting a hand, and I take it in both of mine.

"Let go," he says, opening his eyes more fully.

I immediately let go, realizing that he means to do something. Can't he just tell me what he needs?

Then he makes a beckoning motion with his middle and forefinger. For a moment, nothing happens, and I start to doubt that he's powerful enough to do anything. Then five bottles come flying into the room.

"Is there a sequence?" I ask him.

"No. Any order will work," he replies.

"How much of each?"

"Just one swallow."

I prop him up, shifting behind him to support his weight, and he chuckles weakly.

"What's so funny?" I ask him.

"Déjà vu," he replies.

He has another coughing fit, and I wrap my arms tightly around him, trying to hold him still.

"You'll be okay," I say softly.

A figure appears in the doorway, and I look up to see Blaise.

"What happened?" he asks.

"Ambush," I say, reaching around Draco's shoulders and unscrewing the lid of the first bottle.

"Here, let me," Blaise offers.

He moves toward me, but Draco lifts a hand to stop him.

"I'll need a Dreamless Sleep Potion. The cure is going to make me delirious," Draco says.

"Don't you have it in stock?" I ask, lifting the first bottle to his lips.

He opens his mouth, and I pour a little bit of the clear liquid inside. As I screw the cap back on the bottle, Draco shakes his head.

"Go, then," I tell Blaise.

Blaise frowns. "Delirious?"

"Blaise, just go. Hurry," I say.

He nods and exits the room without protest, and I hear him moving toward the kitchen. Placing the first bottle on the nightstand, I pick up a second one and proceed to give Draco a dose of that one.

After finishing with the last potion, I put its container down and slowly shift out from behind Draco, lowering his torso to the mattress and gently putting his head back down on his pillow.

"You'll be okay," I repeat.

He smiles at me. "Delirium will hit in a few minutes or so… but I feel much better already."

"What did that spell do to you?"

"My aunt took Dolohov's signature curse and made a few modifications. She intensified the extent of internal injuries caused by the curse, but added a bit that would allow the victim to become conscious while injured. So that they can be more aware of the pain."

"Right. Dolohov's victims don't wake up until they're on the recovery," I say, reaching over to take his hand. "I'm sorry."

A small frown appears on his face. "Sorry? For what?"

"For leading you into that trap."

A smile replaces the frown. "Hermione, I knew it was a trap as soon as I heard from you. That didn't stop me from coming. Nothing could have stopped me."

My heart swells at his words. I've already known for some time that he would do anything for me, but hearing him say it aloud somehow makes it that much more real.

Then his eyes become slightly unfocused, and I bite my lip.

Is the delirium setting in, then?

I squeeze his hand tightly. "Draco, stay with me," I murmur.

His eyes focus on me with some difficulty. "Hermione? Please don't leave me."

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," I reassure him.

It stings a bit that the first thing he asks is that I don't leave. Does he really think that I would leave him in this state? But then I remind myself that his mind is becoming unstable. Dreamless Sleep Potions don't take too long to make—Blaise should be coming back in very soon.

"Hermione," Draco says in an urgent voice.

I look away from the doorway to see that his eyes, slightly wild, are fixed on me.

"Where… where am I? Where are we?"

"We're at your house," I tell him. "We're safe. No one can get to us here."

"No—no, we can't be. I see chains. There are cages and chains—this is _not_ my house."

"Draco, calm down."

He shakes his head and starts to sit up. I quickly lean over and press his shoulders down. Dolohov's curse causes severe internal bleeding—if Bellatrix's curse is similar, then surely it has the same effect. I can't risk Draco ripping open any wounds that the potions he took may have temporarily fixed.

"We have to go," Draco says urgently. "We have to—we have to get out of here."

"Shh," I say. "Calm down."

He shakes his head again, but I keep a firm grip on his shoulders.

"Blaise, what's taking so long?" I call.

"Coming, coming!"

A moment later, Blaise enters the room with a goblet of purple liquid. The hue is darker than I'm used to, but potions can vary slightly depending on the brewer, and I don't question it.

I get up and take the goblet from Blaise, letting him switch positions with me. He very carefully pulls Draco into a sitting position. Draco protests all the while, saying something about a silver blade and dark red leaves.

We manage to get him to drink the potion, and Blaise gets up to let me sit back down in the chair beside Draco's bed. He's still looking up at the ceiling, but his eyes look much more focused than before, and his breathing has calmed considerably.

"Draco?" I say tentatively.

He turns his face toward me, and I'm surprised by the raw fear in his eyes.

"I'm fucking scared, Hermione," he says. "I'm terrified."

"I'm here, Draco. Don't be scared. Go to sleep, all right?"

His hand gets a hold of mine and grasps it tightly. "You don't understand. I'm terrified," he says.

Isn't the Dreamless Sleep Potion supposed to help him rest? He still seems so _awake_.

But sometimes potions need a little while to take effect, and knowing Bellatrix, she may have intentionally modified the curse so that the only cure required the victim to become delirious. If that were her intention, she could easily have worked out a way to delay recovery by dulling the effectiveness of potions such as the Dreamless Sleep Potion.

"Why are you scared?" I ask Draco.

Maybe if I keep him talking, he'll stay a bit calmer. I know that talking things out tends to make me feel better, so hopefully it'll do the same for him.

"That girl. She keeps… she keeps coming back."

I frown. "Who?"

"I can't get away from her. There's no escape. No way out."

His eyes are slightly unfocused again, and even though his gaze is pointed toward me, it seems as though he sees right through me.

"Draco, what are you talking about?" I ask. I twist slightly to glance back at Blaise. "Do you know what he's—"

Blaise shakes his head. "Not a clue."

"Draco, who—"

"Do you know what Voldemort said—what he said about me?" Draco interrupts.

I'm almost afraid to ask. "What did he say?"

"He said… said that only a truly Dark wizard can make a Dark Mark as good as mine. Hermione, doesn't that mean—if the Dark Lord himself—I can't—"

"Shh, shh, calm down," I say, swallowing hard.

How long has he been carrying this around? To hear something like that from the Darkest wizard that our world has ever known… it must have been scarring.

"I should die," he says, his unseeing eyes still fixed in my direction. "I… before I go Dark side…"

"Draco, stop it," I say. "Blaise, why isn't he unconscious yet?"

"I might have accidentally tweaked the ingredients a bit," Blaise replies.

I turn to glare at him. "_Accidentally?_"

"All right, so I did it on purpose. This is the only way you're going to get any form of the truth out of him, Hermione. So why don't you ask him what you want to know so badly? I'm dying to know what the hell happened in Russia, too."

"This is wrong, Blaise. He needs to recover."

"We're never going to be able to help him if we don't know what's wrong with him," Blaise says.

Draco starts muttering something under his breath, and I look down at him.

"Draco?" I say.

"She's here—she's still here—still laughing. She's here."

"No one else is here, Draco. It's just you, me, and Blaise."

"Blaise," Draco says, eyes widening slightly as he latches onto the name. "Blaise, mate. I'm so sorry. I wish I could take it all back. All of it."

"You and me both, mate," Blaise replies.

"I can't sleep at night, Hermione. She won't let me sleep."

I rub my forehead with my free hand, and my eyes well up at the blank look in his eyes.

"Who is she?" I ask.

"She's always here. Waiting for me to let down my guard. Waiting so she can laugh at me."

"Are you scared that you might be a Dark wizard at heart, Draco? Is that what it is?" I ask.

"I _am_," Draco replies. "If Voldemort himself said it, then I must be."

"No—Draco, you're not," I say.

"You don't know who I am. You don't know what I've done."

"Then tell me," I say softly.

He shakes his head. "I can't… can't tell you. You'll never… never understand."

"Don't you trust me?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

I blink once, and some tears fall. One of them splashes on his forearm, and he jerks. Suddenly his eyes fix on me, and it's as though he really does see me again.

"Are you crying?" he asks.

I sniff and shake my head, trying to blink away the tears. "No. I'm not."

He looks hurt. "You're lying. I'm injured, not blind."

"He shouldn't sound so conscious right now," Blaise says from behind me. I can tell from his tone of voice that he's frowning. "Maybe I _did_ screw something up."

"Could you make another batch, then?" I ask.

"Yeah. Sorry, Hermione. I thought I fixed it so he'd only be conscious for an extra minute or so."

"It's all right, Blaise. Just… don't mess with it this time."

Blaise exits the room, and Draco looks at me seriously.

"Don't cry, Hermione," he says quietly.

"I won't," I reassure him. I reach out with my free hand and run my fingers through his hair. "Draco, try to sleep."

"You don't _understand_. I don't _want_ to. She's _there_. She won't let me."

"No one can hurt you, Draco. I'm right here. No one can get to you."

"You're missing the point."

"All right, then. What's the point?"

"I don't want to hurt people anymore. I'm not the one who needs protecting. I'm the one that people need to be protected _from_."

"No, don't say that."

"It's the truth."

I sigh. "What happened out there, Draco?"

He shakes his head, and a shiver passes through him.

"Draco, please don't keep it from me."

"It's cold," he says.

I kick off my shoes and remove my robe, under which I'm wearing a shirt and jeans. Then I crawl under the covers beside him.

"What are you doing?"

I tentatively scoot up against him and put an arm over his chest. "I'm going to keep you warm," I reply.

His body really does feel cold—the coldness from his chest seems to see into my arm, and I wonder if this is part of the after-effects of Blaise's modified concoction or the spell that Bellatrix used.

"Tell me what's wrong, Draco," I coax gently.

He slowly turns onto his side and pulls me closer to him, arms wrapping possessively around me.

"I've killed a lot of people," he murmurs.

"I knew that already."

"You don't understand."

"Then help me understand."

"It's not your burden to bear."

Instead of continuing to press him, I fall silent, waiting for him to relent. Or for Blaise to get here with the potion… whichever comes first. But if I really have a chance to hear what's bothering him, I'm going to take it. I feel so guilty taking advantage of his state, but it's just so hard to see another way.

Finally, he speaks.

"I felt no remorse."

I bite the question that threatens to come out of my mouth, feeling that keeping silent is best, for now.

"When I looked into her face and saw how she was suffering, when I heard her cries for mercy, I felt no guilt. No anger. No shame. _Nothing_."

I tighten my arms around him, hoping to offer him some modicum of comfort as I process what he said. He didn't… feel remorse? For torturing someone? It's hard for me to imagine. I've read that some people can become numb to things if they've seen too much of it, like soldiers who have gone to war. Could that be what Draco is going through?

No, I shouldn't be thinking about this right now. He needs to be comforted, reassured that that isn't the truth. He may not be the most compassionate person on the planet, but he is not a monster—of that I'm sure.

"Draco, that wasn't you. You aren't a Dark wizard—don't you think I would know if you were?"

"I was like a machine, Hermione," he continues. "I didn't _feel_ anything. Even now, I can choose not to feel anything. Do you know how easy it would be for me to lose my feelings for you? To just… turn them off?"

I swallow hard as I consider the possibility. "Draco, you wouldn't. Would you?"

"She's always _here_. Fuck, she's still here. No one else knew what was going to happen, but _she_ had it all figured out."

At least I finally understand who this "she" is—she must have been someone that Draco was forced to torture and kill. And she must have become the representative of everything that happened to him—of everyone he was forced to hurt—in Russia.

Meanwhile, Draco continues to speak. "And she laughed at me, at what my fate would be. I don't want to see her anymore, Hermione. I don't—"

"Shh… stop, Draco. Please stop."

He's quiet for a moment, and we both lie there, unmoving.

"It'd be so easy to just… choose not to feel anymore, Hermione," he says softly. "It'd be so easy to just _let go_."

I think I finally know what he's trying to say.

"But you'd lose me in the process," I say.

His arms tighten around me, and he's trembling. I must be right. I feel like a layer of ice has just formed around my heart, and no matter how warm I am under these covers, I won't be able to melt it.

_I_ am the reason why he chooses to carry around the trauma left over from whatever hell he experienced in Russia. _I_ am the reason why he doesn't numb himself, even if it would help him feel better. So if he's going to recover, he's going to have to let go of me. Is that why he didn't want to tell me?

"I can't lose you," he whispers. "I can't do it."

I close my eyes and press my forehead into his neck. I feel like crying, but my eyes are dry.

"It's going to be okay, Draco. Everything's going to be okay."

If you can't do it, then I'll do it for you.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well… I said I'd say it, so… UNO!

PS- Don't kill me… I'll put the next (last! sob…) chapter up soon. And yes, I know there's a lot left to resolve. Endings are rather difficult for me. Quoting Chuck Shurley, endings are "a raging pain in the ass." So I'm going to do what I can.


	100. Chapter 100 D

**Author's Note:** I seriously can't believe I've written a hundred chapters for this story. I think I'm partially in shock. I'm gonna have to go back and reread this thing from beginning to end (probably not today because I just don't think I can handle it at the moment) just to prove that I did write it all. Sometimes when I go back and read my own stories, I feel like I'm not reading my own writing… it's so strange. Don't know if anyone else ever feels like that…

Anyway, this will be one of my last author's notes, so I'll just tell you guys that you've been an awesome audience, and I've really enjoyed your reviews (and those of you who didn't review… SHAME ON YOU. Haha, just kidding! I love you too).

Oh, and one more thing, before anyone asks: no, I will not be writing a sequel for this story. As much as I'd love to continue with these characters, I don't think I have the inspiration for another 50-100 chapters of this (and if I wrote a sequel, I feel that it'd have to be comparable in length). And I am aware that there are a few loose ends. I am currently working on the (partial) remedy to that ;)

By the way, I did time this so that I would finish on Christmas day. So… Merry Christmas, guys! I hope you're having wonderful holidays :)

**Chapter 100**

It's really warm. Almost hot…

I open my eyes and see the roof of my bedroom. I feel much better today—as I should, since it's already been two days. Aunt Bella's modified version of Dolohov's curse may have increased damage to the victim, but somehow recovery is much easier.

I slowly sit up and then get to my feet. Much, much better than yesterday, that's for sure.

I'm surprised that Hermione isn't here. She's hardly left my side for the past two days.

When I walk into the living room, I see a guest sitting on the couch.

"Potter."

He looks up at me and smiles. "Hey. How are you feeling?"

"Better," I reply.

It's silent for a moment, and he looks back down at the paper in his hands. I take a closer look and see that it's an edition of the Quibbler.

"Old Lovegood got back to printing, then?" I say.

Potter nods. "And it's not all rubbish anymore," he says.

"That's good to hear."

Another brief silence.

He folds the paper up and puts it down on the coffee table before getting to his feet and meeting my eyes. "Before I get to the reason why I came… want some coffee?"

I look down at the table and see that two cups have been set there. "Why?"

"I just wanted to do a little something for you. Seeing as I'm hoping we can still be… if not friends, at least civil, after this."

"What, is this supposed to be your version of an olive branch?"

"Is it working?"

I shrug and reach down to pick up the cup on my side. "Sure."

"All right, then," he says, picking up his mug and taking a sip.

"You're not trying to poison me, are you?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He grins. "If you need me to prove I'm not, I wouldn't mind having some of your tea, too."

I shake my head, reminding myself that I'm supposed to trust Hermione's friends now. I drink some from my cup before putting it back down.

A strange, warm sensation comes over me, and I frown. It feels oddly familiar… like a potion that I've had before. But Potter's attention is back on the newspaper, and I frown. Is this supposed to be a test in trust? I wouldn't put it past Hermione—or Blaise, at least—to arrange something like this.

Eyeing Potter carefully, I consider it. This can't be a fake version of Potter, since only the real one can get past the Fidelius Charm. So I _should_ be safe—besides, I already let him into my head once. What more can he do to me?

"Why are you here?" I ask him, deciding to go with it for the time being and see what he's up to.

"I came here today because I heard you were going to be fully recovered. And you said you wanted to talk about… well, I'm assuming it's about the last fight with Voldemort."

I nod. "I just have some questions."

"Shoot."

I hardly know where to start. "Well… how did you know that the Sword of Gryffindor was in the Hat?"

Potter smiles. "I didn't know for sure. It's just… the Hat was able to help me in the past."

"But… how did it know to help _me?_ Did you tell it ahead of time that you were in my head?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "The Sorting Hat hasn't spoken for years, according to McGonagall. She said that she couldn't get it to speak to her, after we retook Hogwarts."

"Maybe it's because the school is closed," I theorize.

"Yeah, that's what she thought the problem was," he says. "But I'm pretty sure that the Hat couldn't have known that it was really me. There wasn't a way for us to get in contact with it."

"Then you had no idea that the Hat would really work," I say, frowning. "Well, what about the Sword? How did you know about the connection between them?"

"Do you remember when the Chamber of Secrets was opened back in second year?" he asks me.

I nod. That was a _very_ long time ago, but I do remember that year. Fuck, it was the year that I first called Hermione a Mudblood. How could I forget?

"Voldemort was behind the attacks," he says. "Long story short, the hilt of the Sword appeared in the Hat, so I pulled it out. It saved my life."

I digest this tidbit for a moment. Maybe that's what he was talking about when he was speaking to Voldemort in the forest.

"But if the Hat wasn't speaking to anyone anymore, how could you be sure—"

"Hey Malfoy," he says, interrupting me.

From the brightness in his eyes, I can see that something interesting—or dare I say exciting?—has occurred to him.

"After the Hat saved me in second year, Dumbledore told me something."

"Do I want to hear this?" I ask.

He nods and continues, "He told me that only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that sword out of the Hat."

We're both silent for a long moment.

"I don't like what you're implying," I finally say.

"What, you don't think you could have switched Houses in all this time?" Potter asks. "You've done some pretty selfless things for—"

"Don't think they were selfless," I interrupt. "I'm a selfish bastard and I know it."

"Then maybe the Sword honed in on your bravery. In any case, you were deemed worthy enough to draw the Sword out of the Hat."

"That's… more than slightly disturbing," I say.

He smiles. "Is it that bad to be told that you might have picked up some Gryffindor qualities? We're not all bad, I promise."

I shake my head. "That's not the point."

"Yes, I know. It changes a lot about your perspective. Because you've always viewed yourself as being one way and us as being another way, and it's conflicting to suddenly be told by such an irrefutable source that you share a significant number of qualities with us."

I stare at him. That does _not_ sound like something Potter would ordinarily say.

Then, as though he just read my thoughts, he says, "Yeah, I know. What a load of bollocks, right? That's what I said at first when Hermione told me so."

"You talked about this with Hermione?"

While my tone comes out surprised, I really don't find this unexpected at all. She was there, after all. If I had questions about the sudden appearance of Gryffindor's Sword, certainly she would have, too.

"Of course I did," Potter says. "And I think she's right. You really _have_ changed a lot since school. I've had a good look inside your head. The Sorting Hat didn't get it wrong, mate. It takes a lot of courage to turn on Voldemort like that."

As he says the last sentence, his eyes stray to my left arm, and I wonder if he's doing that consciously or not. Deciding that I shouldn't pretend I didn't see it, I proceed to pull my sleeve up, showing him the Mark.

"_Oh_—erm, sorry," he mutters, color rising to his cheeks.

I smirk. "Does that make you uncomfortable?"

He shakes his head. "No. I just didn't mean to—I mean, when you were unconscious, before the memory that you caught me looking through, I saw… I saw a memory about how much you hated the Mark and what you did about it. And I—"

"Stop."

It's not something I think back on often. It had happened about a year after my fight with Blaise, a year after everything had fallen apart. I had felt like I couldn't take it anymore, and I'd tried to physically remove the Dark Mark from my forearm, using a knife.

Slicing the skin off my own arm had been excruciating, and even the spells to help numb me didn't do much to help. And then Father had caught me, arms covered with my own blood. He'd been furious and had given me a thrashing to remember. And then he'd imprisoned me downstairs, telling anyone who asked that I was very ill.

After the wound healed, the skin that grew back still bore the Mark. I can't even begin to convey the anguish I felt for the length of time during which I had to watch it grow back.

The fight with Blaise, and then _this_… It's strange that Potter happened upon some of my most vulnerable moments…

"I'm sorry," he repeats.

"Sorry for what?" a voice asks from behind me.

I glance over my shoulder and see that Hermione is standing just a few feet away from me. She walks over to stand beside me and smiles, but the emotion doesn't quite seem to reach her eyes.

"Nothing," I say.

"I was actually just leaving," Potter says, frowning at Hermione.

She gives him a meaningful look, and he turns his gaze back to me. What's that all about?

And then I remember that Potter had given me spiked tea. Could it really be something Hermione asked him to do? We talked a lot about trust the past two days, while I was unable to escape the confines of my bedroom, and she extracted a few promises from me about keeping me honest.

"I erm… I'll see you, Malfoy," the Chosen One says.

Before I have time to respond, he Disapparates.

"What's going on, Hermione?" I ask.

"I just—"

"Wait," I interrupt. "Before you say anything…"

I let my voice trail off, and when she opens her mouth to ask me what I want to say, I lean down and kiss her. As I expected, she gasps but doesn't move away. I pull away and smile, leading her into the bedroom. This can't go wrong. But when I lean down to kiss her again, she turns her face away.

"What's wrong?"

She refuses to meet my gaze, and worry begins to creep into my mind. Did I not pass the "test" or something? What did I do wrong?

"Hermione?"

"I think we should end this, before it gets any further."

No.

_No_.

Please tell me I did not just hear that.

My ears are ringing.

Fuck.

There's just no way…

_Before it gets any further?_ Has she not realized just how far it's gone?

I become aware that she's still speaking—in fact, she's talking at the speed of light now, and it's clear to me that she's nervous about my lack of response.

"Hermione, stop," I say, interrupting her tirade.

Slightly out of breath, she starts trying to calm herself down with slow, deep inhalations and exhalations.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask her.

"Haven't you been listening?" she manages to ask, in a much calmer voice.

"I had a bit of a hard time getting past 'we should end this'. You need to leave a bit more time for me to process that."

"Sorry."

She doesn't sound particularly sorry, and it stings. What brought this on? I thought everything was _fine_.

"Tell me why you think—"

"Because it's dangerous, Draco. I—"

My eyebrows shoot up, and I can't stop myself from interrupting her. "_Dangerous?_ Hasn't it always—"

"Don't you understand what happened? You almost _died_ because of me!"

"Right, because this was the _first_ time that that has happened," I say.

"But that's exactly my point, Draco. You keep putting yourself in danger like that, needlessly—"

"Needlessly? _Needlessly?_" I explode. "Need I remind you that you might not be standing here right now if I hadn't _needlessly_—"

"I know very well that you've saved my life. I just want you to stop—"

"Stop what? Stop trying to protect you? Stop caring about you? Stop thinking about you? I _can't!_ You should know by now that I bloody well _can't_," I rant.

Anger pulses through my being. Does she understand nothing? Does she know nothing?

She looks pained. "Draco, this… this _thing_ between us… it's impossible. Irrational. We can't—"

"Tell me, Hermione. Are you still afraid of flying a broom?" I interrupt suddenly.

She blinks a few times, surprised. "What does this have to do with—"

"Just tell me," I say, frustrated.

Hermione glares at me. "Yes, I'm still afraid. What of it?"

"Why are you scared? What are you scared of? Have you ever fallen off a broom before, or been attacked by one, what?"

"I'm just afraid of flying! What does it matter?"

"Your fear of flying is completely irrational, but it's real, isn't it? It's powerful, isn't it?"

The look on her face clearly says that she sees the flaw in her logic. But instead of giving in, she just says, "It isn't the same."

"No, but the idea is the same. Just because it's irrational doesn't mean it's not real, that you should throw it away. If you could get rid of everything irrational, why is it that you still can't get on a broom by yourself?"

"Draco, please stop."

"I don't understand what has you so convinced that this is impossible. You seem to have made up your mind, without any input from me. You've run through our relationship all on your own and decided that we aren't even worth a _try_. Fucking hell, Hermione."

Her eyes soften at my words. "I'm sorry, Draco. But think about it. What are the odds—"

"I don't _care_ what the odds are, Hermione. I just want you to shut up and give this a shot. Give us a chance. _You_ were the one who said that you'd never regret it."

Hermione blinks. "I never said I regretted—"

"That's what it sounds like," I say. It's the only possibility I can think of that would makes sense, given the circumstances.

"I'm sorry. But you haven't been straight with me about a lot of things, so it's not all my fault."

I frown, trying to gather her reasons so that I can counter all of them at once. "Why exactly are you leaving me, then? Is it because you're worried about me, or is it because I've kept secrets from you? Make up your mind."

"It's… a combination of the two. I just… you can't be truthful, and our relationship only just began. And with what's coming up for us…"

"We'd have each other."

There's a brief pause.

And then she says, "I don't know if that's enough."

I feel like something sharp has just been driven through my chest. "So, what happens now? Are you leaving me?"

She closes her eyes: "Draco, I just think it'd be better if…"

I suddenly step forward and wrap my arms around her, pulling her close.

"Um… Draco?"

"Don't do it, Hermione," I whisper.

Please, Hermione. Don't make me beg. Fucking hell, don't make me beg.

"Just… just think about it. How could this ever work out? We're never going to win. Yesterday, you explained clearly enough that the Death Eaters are fully capable of functioning without Voldemort, and with what happened in London, in broad daylight no less, we know for a fact that it's true. We're always going to be in danger."

"That doesn't mean we can't be together."

She starts to push me away, but I only hold on tighter.

"Is it because of what I said when I was barely conscious?" I ask. "Are you doing this because—"

"No, Draco. No. I've never believed that you were a Dark wizard, all right? We went over this already. I _know_ you."

"I don't believe you. The Hermione I know wouldn't give up so easily without a fight."

"We _did_ fight, though. We fought for this. We killed Voldemort. But it's clearly not enough."

I sigh and release her, backing up and sitting down on the bed.

"Fine. If you're so determined to leave, just fucking leave. I don't want to drag this out any longer."

It hurts enough as it is. She looks at me, and I see pain in her eyes. _Why_ is she doing this, if it's hurting her, too?

"Draco, you have to understand—"

"No, I don't understand. I don't _want_ to understand your way of thinking, if it means I have to conclude that we can't be together."

She looks at me for a moment longer. "Bye, then."

My chest twists painfully, and I know I only have a few seconds before she leaves the room.

My head hangs. I've never been so utterly defeated by a person, so unable to control myself. I wish I could stay strong and tell her to fuck off for being such an incomprehensible, insufferable, stubborn little twat—even as I think the word I want to slap myself for thinking of her that way—but I can't.

"_Please_ don't go."

My voice is hoarse. I sound pathetic.

She pauses by the door. "I have to."

Have to? Why would she say _have_ to? A glimmer of understanding shines in my mind, and hope flickers to life in my chest.

"What _exactly_ did I say to you when I was delirious?" I ask her.

"I already told you. You talked about Russia and the Dark Mark, and what Voldemort said about you."

My throat tightens a bit as I consider the next question I'm going to ask. I haven't ever spoken of _her_ aloud—at least, not that I remember.

"Did I ever tell you about… about _her?_"

From the way Hermione's back stiffens, I can see that she knows what I'm talking about. I must have mentioned her when I wasn't myself. I get to my feet and move toward her slowly.

"Did I tell you that I could shut off my feelings, that I could become numb to everything?"

She seems to be frozen in place, and I continue to advance.

"Did you assume, all on your own, that I wanted you to break up with me? That it'd be easier for me to live without feelings at all than to be with you and suffer all that guilt?"

I put my hands on her shoulders and slowly turn her around, and she doesn't resist. When she's fully facing me, her eyes flit up to meet mine, and in them I see that I've spoken the truth.

"Hermione, I love you."

Her breath catches in her throat, and her eyes widen. I've surprised her.

"I would rather spend the rest of my life wallowing in this guilt than having to live without you."

She opens her mouth to speak, but I lift a hand and cover her lips with a finger.

"Let me finish, so that I can get all this sappy stuff out of the way."

This earns me a small smile from her.

"I'm glad that you care enough about me to try to leave me for my sake, but you'd better get to know me and my priorities, or this relationship is never going to work out."

She huffs at me indignantly. "Well, whose fault is it that I don't know any of your priorities? You're the one who never cares to share what's on your mind."

I grin. "I'll try to be a little better about that in the future."

She raises an eyebrow.

"A lot better," I amend.

She smiles, relieved, and I thank Merlin that she happened to choose the one small word that gave her away. I lean down and kiss her lips. I'm so unbelievably lucky.

Lucky.

Wait, _lucky!_ The familiar, warm, tingling sensation in the tea—Felix Felicis! Damn it, I think I'll _have_ to call Potter a friend, after this. I owe him too much.

Then she backs away a tiny step and frowns at me. "Since when were you in love with me?"

I bite back the automatic impulse to retreat from her question. "From the start, I guess. I just never admitted it to myself," I confess.

She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. "So it took me _leaving_ you for you to finally say it. I wonder what it'll take in the future, when our relationship progresses to the next step."

"What next step? Are you sure you'll be able to hang onto me for that long?"

She smiles slyly. "Well, I didn't even have to put in any effort to make you fall in love with me, so I'm sure it won't take much to keep you wrapped around my finger."

Good point.

Instead of responding, I lean down to kiss her again, but she backs away.

"Don't you have a comeback?" she taunts me.

"Shut up."

Before she has a chance to gloat over her tiny victory, I tug her into my arms and capture her lips. But she presses at my shoulders and forces me to back away.

"What now?" I almost growl.

She smiles. "Just so you know, I think I love you, too."

My heart soars, even as my mind begins to rebel, saying that this can't possibly be reality. Never would I have thought I could hear those words coming from her lips.

Then those lips are pressing against mine again, and nothing else in the world matters.

I love her. And she loves me.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yeah, sappiest ending ever, I know. The Draco in my head will never admit it because he's too dark and brooding, but he demanded a happy ending.

Thanks for sticking it out to the end. Seriously. You guys are great.

And again, Merry Christmas to all of you! Hope you have a magical day.


	101. Epilogue

**Author's Note:** Surprise, I'm back! For one last piece of the tale. I said I'd tie up a few loose ends, so here I am. Your reviews were all so nice! (For the most part.) They were a pretty awesome Christmas gift, honestly. And I'm planning to find enough time to reply to all or most of them (but just a warning: I am feeling SOOOOO lazy this break, so there is still a possibility that I won't get to them after all…). But thanks so much! You guys were an amazing audience (:

Oh by the way, I don't know how many of you guys have read the _Demonata_ series by Darren Shan (author of the _Cirque du Freak_ series), but this epilogue contains a reference to the first book, called _Lord Loss_. It'd be awesome if you could point it out (if you review). Oh, and if you haven't read _Demonata_… you totally should. There are ten books (I know, it sounds very long, but the books are all really short—by short I mean not much more than 200 pages each—and after reading _Harry Potter_ books, these go by _soooo_ quickly), and they're amazing.

Wow I totally just plugged that series… originally didn't mean to do that. Well… GO READ IT. Anyway, here's the epilogue! Sorry for the uber long note…

**EDIT:** I have a message about awards that I am placing at the end of this epilogue. (This is just to let you know ahead of time why the chapter looks super-long.)

**Epilogue**

"Blaise."

I don't turn to face her, but I can tell from her tone that she's surprised.

"What are you doing here?" Daphne asks.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Obviously. What did you want to talk about?"

She walks around me and sits on the bed across from the one I'm occupying. If memory serves me right, I'm sitting on her bed, and she is on what used to be Pansy's bed.

"Theo."

"Excuse me?"

Her surprise sounds genuine.

"Theo. I want to talk about Theo," I say.

"Why?"

She sounds guarded. So she knows already.

"How long have you known?" I ask.

"Known what?" she responds.

I lift my head and finally meet her eyes. "You know what I'm talking about."

She holds my gaze for a moment before lowering her eyes. "I don't want to play guessing games with you, Blaise. If you want to say something, just say it."

She wants all cards on the table? Fine.

"Theo likes you."

She flinches as I say the words, but just barely.

"How long have you known?" I ask.

"I…"

She's trying to come up with the response that will make me least angry. Just what I was afraid of.

"Don't walk on eggshells around me," I say. "If you're trying not to piss me off, just tell the truth. Did you know in sixth year?"

She sighs. "What if I said that I knew before that?"

I narrow my eyes at her but don't respond.

"He was always too shy to say anything," she says. "I noticed… a long time ago. Definitely before the beginning of sixth year."

"You're only saying this because you want me to think that I didn't mess up his chances with you."

"No, I'm saying it because it's the truth, and that's what you asked for."

I shake my head. "There's no way you could have known when Draco and I didn't even notice."

"Look, I'm a girl. We pick up these sorts of things. You boys think you're being _so_ discreet when you have a crush, but it's so obvious."

I only frown at her, and she sighs.

"Theo… he's never been very outspoken. You _know_ that. He's the youngest of the three of you, and he always followed you and Draco around. It's not your fault if you didn't notice a few lingering glances in my direction, especially since he was standing behind you half the time you were together."

"I'm not convinced."

She glares at me, clearly exasperated, and throws her hands up in the air. "Fine! What do you want me to do, hmm? Am I supposed to _prove_ this somehow? It's not as though we can go back in time a few years and interrogate me!"

"Hey, calm down."

"Don't tell me to _calm down_, Blaise. Do you have any idea how frustrating this is? You may have been an insensible arse in school, but that doesn't mean you have to beat yourself up over every little thing that went wrong for any of us. You are _not_ responsible for Theo's feelings, and you _certainly_ aren't responsible for mine!"

"I broke your heart."

She flinches more visibly this time, and her resolve seems to falter for a moment.

"You played it strong, called me an arse and proceeded to ignore everything that happened, but I know just how badly I hurt you, and I can't—"

Before I can finish my thought, she lunges at me, pressing me down onto her bed and covering my mouth with her hand.

"Shut up, Blaise," she says.

"Fine," I reply, my voice muffled by her hand. "What do you want to say?"

She huffs with annoyance as she removes her hand and shifts a little on top of me, and I'm suddenly extremely aware that she's straddling my hips. I start to push her off so that I can sit up, but she snatches my hands and holds them away from her, giving me a death glare.

"Fine, have it your way," I say, letting my hands drop back to the bed.

"I have had enough of your guilt, Blaise. You may have been the one who _would not_ give up, the one who… who broke my heart, but that doesn't mean I'm completely free of blame. I had my share of fun too, before I gave in—don't you remember? I led you on _so_ many times, and you took it all in stride. Your patience was… was incredible, even for a serpent."

I only shake my head. All the little tricks she played on me don't even matter in the big picture. I was the one who left her.

"Fine. You feel guilty. What am I supposed to do with your guilt, with your apologies? Store them in a box and look at them every now and then?"

"Daphne, I—"

"_Shut up_. That was a rhetorical question, not an invitation for you to speak."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. People just don't talk to me this way. Combine her tone with her current position, and… fuck.

"Look, I just—"

"I thought I told you to shut your mouth," she says, drawing her wand and pointing it at me.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Silencio."

I roll my eyes at her. I guess she is.

"You _have_ to stop doing this, Blaise. _I'm_ not even blaming you for anything, so I don't understand why you can't just let it go. I understand that you don't have any feelings for me, but that doesn't mean you have to act as though you owe me your firstborn child or something, for goodness' sake."

Since when did I ever do that?

She groans, and I'm surprised at the sound. It sounds so undignified, so unlike her.

"You're _always_ like that, Blaise," she says, and I'm not even surprised that she was able to read my thoughts. "You haven't stopped looking apologetic for one waking minute. I just want to… to at least go back to how we were before everything that happened sixth year."

She ignored me all the time before sixth year. I fail to see how that's a good thing for her.

One of her hands touches my cheek, and I resist the urge to flinch away from her touch. Despite her angry, frustrated words, her gaze is so warm, so trusting, so… so goddamn _loving_. It feels too familiar, too wrong. Like I'm taking advantage of her all over again.

Then she frowns. "How did you get up here?"

I raise an eyebrow at her in response. She sighs and flicks her wand again. I clear my throat, and sure enough, I have my voice back.

"It's not that hard to get up a slide," I say.

She rolls her eyes. "I suppose not."

Her eyes drop to my position beneath her, and color tinges her cheeks. I have to restrain myself from thrusting my hips upward, to tease her. She was always shy when it came to sex.

"Get off me," I tell her.

"No."

"I don't have to ask, you know."

But I'm bluffing, and she knows it. I wouldn't push her off because I don't want to hurt her. When did I get so damn predictable?

"I need to talk to Harry," I say.

"That can wait."

"But—"

"If it was that urgent, you wouldn't have been waiting here for me, would you?"

Before I can respond, the door opens. I try to look behind me, but it's impossible when I'm pushed down against the bed, and Daphne still hasn't moved.

"Oh. Didn't expect… Never mind. I'll just—"

I know that voice all too well.

"Draco, wait," I say, pushing Daphne gently.

She gets off, and I almost expect her to be blushing, but she apparently has even that under control, because her face is a mask. Frowning, I sit up and twist around to see Draco standing with a hand on the doorknob, about to back out of the room.

"Don't take off yet," I say. "Did you need something?"

He shrugs. "Hermione wanted to talk to you. But you look busy. I'll—"

"Where is she?"

"She went to find Potter, said she'd have him check the Marauder's Map, whatever that is. I told her I knew where you'd be, but…" Draco's voice trails off, and he shrugs.

I can tell from the look on his face that he doesn't think we should be discussing Hermione in front of Daphne. And a glance at her face tells me that Draco's assessment was right—Daphne seems to have locked down.

"I'm—" I begin.

"Don't you _dare_ follow that up with 'sorry,'" she almost growls.

"All right, all right," I say, getting to my feet.

"Hermione can wait," Draco says. "You two should probably finish up here."

"We're done," Daphne says before I can even open my mouth. "Go ahead, Blaise."

There's a strangely painful sensation in my chest as she tells me to leave, and I don't like it. It hints at something more. Something that I don't deserve to feel.

"Bye, then," I say, heading for the exit.

Draco steps aside to let me pass, and as soon as I step off the landing, I slip and land heavily on my arse, sliding down to the bottom of the steps. Damn—I'd forgotten about the slide. I get to my feet grumpily.

"All right there, mate?" Draco asks, grinning.

"Fine."

"Come on, then," he says, leading me out of the common room.

We head up the steps toward the Great Hall, and I want to ask him how he knows where Hermione is if she's gone to look for Harry.

But then I remember. Harry reported to me that he'd spiked the tea, as planned, and Draco had taken a sip. Sure, it was only a sip, but it'd be enough. Supposing that they came here right afterwards, the effects may not have worn off yet. And assuming Draco was as astute as always, he knew what he'd been hit with as soon as it happened. Even if Harry claimed that he didn't seem to suspect a thing.

A few minutes later, we meet her in the Great Hall. Draco automatically takes his place at her side, one arm curling around her waist like it belongs there as he presses a kiss to her cheek. They share a smile.

Then she turns her head and sees me. "Blaise," she says.

I smile, and it hurts. One glance at Draco and I can tell from the tiny flicker in his eyes that he knows. But Hermione can't see the hurt, and that's all that matters.

"Hermione," I say. "Draco said you wanted to talk to me."

She nods. "Can you come with me? Draco, I—"

"Yeah, I know. I'll get lost," he says, grinning and turning to head back the way we'd come.

Hermione takes my hand and leads me up the staircase, away from the Great Hall.

"Malfoy, wait!" I hear as we near the landing.

Curious, I look back and see Harry disappearing in the direction of the dungeons. But then we're going down the hall, and as a group of people appears on the other end of it, Hermione releases my hand. I continue to follow her, and we nod to acknowledge the others as we pass by them.

She stops when we're alone in a smaller hall and pulls me into a broom cupboard.

Instead of asking what she wants, I just wait for her to get started. I already know that she's feeling anxious, and it won't help to show her that I might be just as uneasy as she is.

It's silent for a long, tense minute, and I figure I should say something to defuse the situation.

"An unasked question is the most futile thing in the world," I say with a small smile that hopefully looks encouraging. I don't have to pull these types of expressions often.

It doesn't seem to help much.

"Are you… all right?" she finally manages.

I blink a few times at her. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Blaise, I'm not an idiot. Please don't treat me like one."

So it's to be the _honesty_ talk, today. Well, I can fake that.

"Okay, I'm not fine," I tell her.

For once, it's the truth. I'm not fine. I'm aching. It really bloody _hurts_ to see just how much she cares about Draco, and the past two days have been awful. There were a few times when I thought I wouldn't be able to handle it anymore.

But I have to press on. Her eyes have latched onto my face, and I realize that she's trying to read me. I try for an emotions-reluctantly-laid-bare expression.

"I'll admit that it's hard for me to see you with him. But I know that he makes you happy. And as long as you're happy, I'll be happy."

I'm surprised at just how true the words are, coming out of my mouth. It eases the pain in my chest slightly, and I feel that I'll be able to make it. It'll still be painful as hell, but she won't have to know that.

She narrows her eyes at me.

"Honestly, Hermione. Trust me. I'm going to be fine, eventually."

She nods slowly, eyes still not leaving my face. I start to speak again, but she shakes her head at me, and I shut up. It's just as well—I didn't have much else left to say anyway.

Then I notice her hand coming toward my face from the side. I get that urge to flinch away again, and as her hand touches down, I realize that I had a similar feeling when Daphne touched my face. But it was Daphne's unspoken devotion that I was shying away from then. Now… I'm fighting the irrational tide of hope that rises up in my chest.

Nothing will happen between us, and I know it. But it doesn't stop my heart from speeding up at the look of concern in her eyes.

"Blaise, you're much more transparent than you think you are," she whispers. "We've shared your mind. I _know_ you. And I know just how lucky I am to have you… as a friend."

She trembles slightly at the last three words, and I realize that she's only whispering because she doesn't want her voice to waver.

"I love Draco," she continues in a hushed voice. "I really, really do."

It hurts, but I know it has to be said.

"Blaise… I wish I could make you happy."

Her hand slides down, and she draws it back slightly so that she's cupping my chin. I hold perfectly still as her thumb cruises up and gently touches my lower lip. Then, with a sigh, she lets her hand drop.

"I don't know what I'm doing," she murmurs, finally lowering her gaze.

I feel like I can breathe freely again, now that I'm not under her scrutiny anymore.

"Hermione, I already said that seeing you happy will make me happy."

It's not a complete lie. Seeing her happy will remind me of why I'm choosing to be unhappy. But her happiness will make all this worth it.

She sighs again and steps forward, hugging me.

"You'll always be one of the most important people in my life, Blaise," she says. "You're one of the best things that ever happened to me."

I put my arms around her and squeeze gently. "Thanks."

Against my shoulder, I feel her shake her head slightly. "Don't say that. The last thing you should be feeling right now is thankful."

"I _am_ thankful, Hermione. Thankful that I was a part of your life."

"_Was?_"

"_Am_, then," I emend. "Satisfied?"

She backs up and smiles at me, but I can see that it's not as genuine as it could be.

"Yes," she replies. "You'll always have a place in my life. I promise."

I stop myself on the verge of thanking her and just smile instead.

"I… I know that this isn't any of my business, but Daphne… I spoke with her alone, before."

Here, she stops, looking at me as though she isn't sure whether or not she should continue.

"Go on," I prod, masking my apprehension with another smile.

"You can't possibly be unaware of this," she mutters, shaking her head. She looks back up at me again and says, "She still _really_ cares about you, Blaise. And I feel like you two really could be happy together. I don't want you to… to feel like you _settled_ for her, but I just… I want to see you give it a try. I want to see you open yourself to someone else."

I maintain an easy smile. "Sure."

"Blaise, don't give me this act. Please. I thought we were closer than that."

"This isn't an act," I say, letting the smile fade. "I'm not exactly new to relationships. I know how to open up."

The unspoken words hang in the air between us. _I'm not Draco._ But he's willing to change for her. That's for sure.

She finally nods. "I know it'll take some time, but promise me you'll try. I don't want to find out that you're miserable, or that you're hurting."

"I'm not made of glass, love."

She flinches almost imperceptibly, and I'm surprised at how well she masked her reaction. Draco's rubbing off on her. Or perhaps I am. I realize that I don't like how she's getting harder to read.

"Careful there," I say.

She frowns, genuinely confused.

"If you're not careful, you'll end up as hard to read as me or Draco," I tell her in way of explanation.

Then she laughs. "It's only right. I give myself headaches trying to understand you two."

"I'll try to make it easier on you," I say, smiling. "Look, I just want you to know that I'm going to be fine. And yes, I'll talk to Daphne. In fact, I was already with her when Draco interrupted me and took me up here to talk to you."

Hermione looks hopeful, and it makes my chest warm up, despite the not-so-heartwarming reason why that optimistic expression is showing up on her face.

Then someone's rapping on the door, and Hermione opens it.

"Oi, Death Eaters seem to be gathering just south of Birmingham," Harry says. "Shacklebolt's deploying the fighters from Russia, as well as some of the people who came over with Hagrid. I just wanted to erm… see if you two wanted in on the action."

"I think I'll sit this one out," I say as I step out of the closet.

Draco's standing a short distance away from Harry, hands in his pockets. Hermione also walks out of the closet and drifts over to him without thinking about it, turning to face me. Harry backs up a step and turns so that he can see all of us.

"Draco? Hermione?" Harry prompts.

I'm almost surprised that they're on a first-name basis now. But I guess it's only right, seeing as Harry was the one who slipped him the lucky potion.

"What do you think?" Hermione asks, looking up at Draco.

But his eyes are on me. And I realize that he wants to know if I'll need his support. I give him a wink and a small smile. But it has an effect opposite from the one I'd intended—the corners of his lips turn down in a frown.

"I'm not sure," he says.

"I'm fine, mate," I tell him. "Don't you have a score to settle with your aunt? If the Death Eaters are gathering anywhere, she'll surely be there."

Hermione's now looking at me, worried, and I realize that Harry's attention is on me, too. I resist the urge to heave a gigantic sigh. Why won't anyone just believe that I'm fine and be done with it?

_Maybe because it's not the truth_, a voice in my head points out.

"Let's go, then," Draco says.

Leave it to him to know exactly what I need—distance from the people who will try to comfort me. As much as I love Hermione, I don't think I can take many more apologetic looks in my direction. She doesn't mean for it to come across as hurtful, but it does anyway.

And then I begin to wonder if that's how Daphne feels whenever I apologize to her.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asks, and it's as though she's asking whether or not he's sure they should leave me alone.

Draco nods. "He's a big boy, Hermione," he says.

Harry smiles at me. "See you later, then."

I nod. "Be careful—all of you. Anyone who dies has to answer to me."

This makes them laugh, and they head off down the hall. I silently wish them the best of luck, but something tells me that they're going to be fine.

I feel a bit guilty sitting this one out, but I really do need to go talk to Daphne. With enough time, maybe we _will_ be happy. Maybe I'll fix the mistake that I made in the past, make up for the pain that I caused her.

But what about Theo? He'll never have an equal chance with her, thanks to me.

I wander back in the general direction of the dungeons, taking my time because I'm not sure how much I want to have this next conversation. I know that it'll have to happen eventually, but I don't know how I'm going to approach it.

I decide to go out to a courtyard for some air.

* * *

I don't know how much time passes before I'm heading back down again, fed up with putting off the inevitable. I promised Hermione to try. And a small part of me hopes that this really will work out.

"Blaise."

Theo's voice jerks me out of my thoughts, and I look up from the ground to see him standing in the corridor, blocking my path.

"I thought you'd gone," he says.

I shake my head. "Nope, still here."

Theo smiles ruefully. "Looks like neither of us followed Draco into battle this time."

"He can take care of himself," I say.

He nods and opens his mouth to speak, but stops himself. I'm about to tell him to get on with it when I hear footsteps coming toward us from behind me. I turn slightly and see a few Ravenclaws.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"We're going down to help keep an eye on the Death Eaters. Shifts, remember?" one of them replies.

We step aside to let them pass, and after they disappear down the steps, we're left alone again.

"Blaise, I don't want this to be awkward," Theo says.

"Which means it probably will be," I reply.

He sighs. "Probably."

"Theo, I don't think—" I begin.

"No, Blaise. I'm starting this conversation."

"Fine."

"Daphne doesn't have any feelings for me. You know the way she's always addressed me. She was colder toward me than the two of you—she warmed up to Draco while you were dating her, but never to me. And I… I've had a chance to ask her why."

His eyes close, and I can tell he's trying to compose himself. Of the three of us, Theo was always the one with the least control over his emotions, even though he spoke the least.

"Mate, you don't have to go on," I say.

"Yes, I do," he says, eyes opening again in a flash. He looks up at me. "You won't let it go until you know the truth. I know you well enough to have that much figured out."

Then I won't bother denying it.

"She kept her distance from me… because she knew how I felt, and she wasn't interested."

"But she only wasn't interested because of me," I blurt.

His jaw clenches. "That's not true. She had a crush on you in second and third year, but she was too shy to show it. And she had a crush on Draco all through fourth year. She almost acted on it in fifth year, but she couldn't do it. And then in sixth year you started going after her, and—"

"Did you two make this story up together?"

He glares at me. "Do I _look_ like I'm making up a story, Blaise? Do you really think I'd want—"

"All right, sorry. I'm sorry."

He _does_ look hurt. I just… it doesn't sound like the truth. Daphne had a crush on me that early on? Draco, Theo, and I were known brats all through fourth year, and after that we just weren't caught in the act anymore… at least, not as often.

"She never felt attracted to me in any way," Theo says evenly.

"Why are you telling me this?"

His eyes widen. "You haven't figured that out already?" he says in a quiet voice, like the calm before a storm.

I take a deep breath. "You shouldn't have gone to the trouble, mate. I know this is hurting you. I just—"

"You're doing the same for Granger, aren't you? You want her to be happy, so you'll step back and let her be with Draco. That's the gist of it, isn't it? Believe me, I relate."

I frown at him. "I'm doing it for both of them."

"Well, I suppose I'm partially doing it for you, too. I just don't care as much about your feelings as I do about hers," he says, a small smile stretching his lips.

"I don't know if I care enough about her for the two of us to be happy," I say. I hate voicing my uncertainties…

"Don't think about that. She probably has enough love stored up for the both of you."

He's trying to make light of the situation. I take a deep breath. This isn't going to be easy.

"Hint," Theo says. "She said she likes—"

"Going up to the Astronomy Tower when she needs to think," I finish for him. "I know."

I get another small smile from Theo.

"See? I think you care about her just enough. How many years has it been since she told you that?"

I only shake my head.

"What are you waiting for? Get moving," he says.

Heaving a sigh, I look up at him. "Yeah, all right. Mate…"

"Don't think you need to make anything up to me. You saved my arse more times than I can count in the eight months before I went with Draco. And you're right—I _did_ leave, knowing that you'd be alone."

I shrug. We all came through, in the end.

"See you later then, Theo."

* * *

I'd always thought that the climb up to the Astronomy Tower took forever. But it seems extremely short this time around, and before I know it, I'm easing the door open and stepping out onto the landing.

Daphne's standing at the edge, resting her hands on the thin railing.

"Hey."

Her shoulders stiffen slightly at the sound of my voice, but she doesn't respond verbally. I slowly walk over and join her, staring out at the grounds. A breeze flows through the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, and I can imagine the sound of the rustling. Ripples run across the Black Lake, and I think I spot the giant squid for just a moment before it disappears underneath the surface.

Everything looks so… _peaceful_. It doesn't seem like there's a war still raging in the background.

I place my hands on the railing, and the metal feels very cold to my palms.

"Mind if I stay?" I ask softly.

She turns her face toward me, and I swallow hard. The same look of trust, of love, shines clearly in her eyes, just as it had in the moment when she'd touched my cheek, and I have to try hard to keep myself from turning away. How can she look at me this way after what I did to her? I don't understand.

She gives me a small smile and turns her attention back to the horizon.

Then her hand shifts to rest over mine, and I'm surprised by the warmth radiating from her palm.

"Yes, Blaise. Stay."

I flip my hand over and weave my fingers between hers. The feeling of holding her hand is so foreign, yet so familiar. She smiles at me again, and comforting heat blossoms in my chest. I can get used to this feeling.

Slowly, a smile spreads across my face.

"I think I will."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Aw, Blaise is such a sentimental guy when he lets me into his head. But I suppose we figured that out already when we got access to his thoughts through Hermione. Anyway, this epilogue was pretty much solely for his benefit (though we did get to see our happy couple again, heehee), because I just loved his character so much (and I really, _really_ wanted to write a full chapter from his point of view).

Yes, I left Bellatrix's fate alone on purpose. Because I feel that any logical ending for her character would turn out very sad… and I don't really want to write it.

If you guys didn't like this epilogue, feel free to disregard it, pretend it was never written, etc.

And _now_, this really is the end. Bye, guys! I don't know when I'll be writing another Dramione (this one was rather draining, I must admit). But keep an eye out! I'm pretty sure I _will_ be back again. After all, the Draco in my head can only lie dormant for so long. ;)

* * *

**Message about Awards:**

_Turncoat_ has been nominated in three categories at the HP Fanfic Fan Poll Awards! I never thought my stories be nominated for any awards, let alone _three_! Ahhh, it's so very exciting for me. I'm really grateful for all of you readers. Anyway, here are the categories this story was nominated in:

BEST DRAMA-ANGST STORY - "Turncoat"  
BEST SUPPORTING CHARACTER - Blaise Zabini in "Turncoat"  
BEST FIGHT SCENE - "Turncoat"

I'm SO HAPPY that Blaise was nominated. I love his character so, so much! (Well, that much is obvious, since I wrote an epilogue especially for him, haha.)

So whoever was out there nominating _Turncoat_, thank you _so_ much! I don't really know how best to thank you, so if you nominated _Turncoat_, pop me a message, and if you want to request a story, I'll do my best to write one (oh dear, I'm probably going to regret this offer...) for you. Yes, I'll take requests from you guys, because I have little else to offer. Oh, and as a warning, non-Dramione fics will be a bit harder for me to write, because the Draco in my head won't be helping me.

Oh, and _please_ be honest about the nominating. I mean, there's really no way for me to tell whether or not you're telling the truth, so I'll just assume that you are, but… be nice? I have quite a lot of stuff going on this semester (still a full-time student, only now I'll be taking on two part-time jobs as well; one at a research facility and the other at a tutoring center).

ANYWAY. Other than thanking you guys, my other goal in writing this was to ask you guys to go vote for _Turncoat_! Yeah, I can't think of any better way to ask, besides just straight-out asking. I'm already stoked that it's been nominated, but how cool would it be if we could take home an award in any one of those three categories?

And no, that wasn't a typo. I do mean _we_, because while I was the one writing this story, I feel like I wouldn't have been able to do it so well (and update so regularly) without you guys encouraging me (yes, head-Draco did a lot of "encouraging" as well, mostly consisting of kicking and screaming at the walls of his cage… aka, my skull, but you guys were awesome). So I'm dedicating this story to everyone who read it and liked it (and especially those of you who reviewed as well, because that was a wonderful source of support for me).

The voting period goes from February 1 to March 31, so there's a pretty big window during which you can go vote. I hope you don't forget! :P

Here is a link to the site: hpfanficfanpoll . livejournal . com/

This is a list of nominations: hpfanficfanpoll . livejournal . com / 2844 . html

And finally, this is a page on how to vote (you don't have to be a livejournal member to vote, so yay! I'm actually not a livejournal member myself): hpfanficfanpoll . livejournal . com / 2225 . html

I'm hoping that these links work for you. Just delete the spaces in between. If any of the links don't work, please let me know. I think I'll also post them on my profile.

Well, thanks for reading! And remember, do NOT review this message—PM me if you want to respond to it. (Oh, and in case you don't know how to PM, do this: click on my pen name, which will take you to my profile; you should see "PM Message" as an option at the top of the page.) As stated above, I'll be removing this message in about a week and pasting it at the end of the epilogue.

Thanks again, and I hope we win something! It was fantastic, writing for you guys (:


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